,^DY OF LYONS. 



few Series. 



No. 38. 




DRAMATIC LIBRARY 




•flcting Plays 



Printed from the Acting Corr, with Ke- 
iparks on the Piece ; Description of Costume ; 
Cast of Characters; Exits and Entrajaces; 
Relative Positions; and correctly marked with 
the whole of the 

as performed in the 
JLondon and mSmerican Theatres, 

VVJTU 

!SPIRITE1> ENGRAVINGS. 



FIIILADFXPHIA : 
FRED. TURNER, PUEI4ISHER ; Fr—r 

Sold toy Turner and Fislier, illlfflB 

NEW YORK, & PHILADELPHIA. 



)^ 5 








Slje SLatii) of H^ons, 

END OF ACT III. 

Melnotte. Hush ! hush ! for mercy's sake. 
Speak not, but oro. 

[Widow ascends the stairs, Fauliuk follows weeping.-^ 
turns to look back. 

Melnotte^ {sinking down,) All angels bless and guard her. 



5r«);net'« JBramatfc Sirbrar^. 
THE 

LADY OF LYONS ; 

OR 

LOVE AND PRIDE. 

A PLAY, 

Kit Jfibc 0cts, 



BY E. L. BULWER, 

Author of ^^Eugene Aram," ^'■The Last Days of Pompeii" 
^'Rienzi," ^c. 



CORRECTLY PRINTED FROM THE MOST APPROVED 
ACTING COPY, 

WiTH A DESCRIPTION OP THE COSTUME, CAST OF THE CHAR- 
ACTERS, ENTRANCES AND EXITS, RELATIVE POSITIONS, 
AND THE WHOLE OF THE STAGE BUSINESS; 

To which are added, .] 

PROPERTIES AND DIRECTIONS, AS NOW PERFORMED IN TWR 

PRINCIPAL THEATRES. 



EMBELLISHED WITH A FINE WOOD ENGRAVING. 



TURNER & FISHER : 

No. 15 N. SIXTH STREET, PHILADELPHIA 
74 CHATHAM ST., NEW YORK. 

1845. 



,x^^' 



.\ 



■ IV 



K 



CHfi. 

W. L. Shoemaker 

7 S '06 



BEAUSEANT.— F/rs^ dress : Frock coat, trimmed with black fur j 
black tight pants; Hessian boots. Second dress : Black frock coat; 
wliite vest; white tight pants; Hessian boots; modern hat. 

GLAVIS — First drrss : Blue- frock coat, undress militarj' ; black 
tight pants: Hessian boots ; modern hat. Second dress: Black body 
coat; white vest; white pants, tight; Hessian boots, &,c. 

COLONEL DAMAS— Fir St dress: Blue uniform coat, trimmed 
with white facings, and silver lace; white tight military boots; 
chapeau and tri coloured cockade. Second dress 7 Blue coat trimmed 
with gold, epauletts. and elegant military chapeau and plume: 
white sash. 

MONSIEUR DESCHAPPELLES.— Black velvet suit, square cut. 

LANDLORD.— Redcoat ; striped French vest and breeches. 

CASPAR. — Blue smock frock; blue vest; breeches and gaiters. 

CLAUDE MELNOTTE.— F/rsf dre^s : Blue smocked frock, 
■worked ; blue tights. Second dress : Rich green shirt, spangled, 
Jarge sleeves; white silk tights; and cap. Third dress. (Same as 
first.) Foiut/r dress : Dark blue frockcoat trinmied with light blue 
facings and buttons blue military pantaloons, light blue stripes 
on sides ; chapeau and tri-coloured cockade. 

OFFICERS— Dark blue coats, turned up with light blue and sil- 
ver; epauletts; white tights ; milirary boots; chapeau and tri- 
eoloured cockades. 

SERVANT— ( To Dsschappclles.) Handsome livery, 

SERVANT— (.^£ the Inn.) Peasant dress 

MADAME DESCHAPPELLES.— Rich pink dress; stawhatand 
feathers. 

V AVLW&.— First dress : Pink satin, neatly trimmed and train. 
Second dress : Plain white silk dress 

WIDOW. — Swiss peasant dress. 

JANET.— Peasant dress. 

MARIAN.— White muslin dress. 



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THE 



ACT I. 



SCENE I.— A room in the house of M. Deschappelles 
at Lyons. Pauline reclining on a sofa, R ; Marian, her 
Maid, fannino; her, r. — Flowers and notes on a table beside 
the sofa. Madame Deschappelles, seated, c. — The Gar- 
dens are seen from the open xoindow. 

Madame D. Marian, put tliat rose a little more to the lefl. 
•^(Marian alters the Position of a rose in Pauline's hair.) 
Ah, so I — that improves the air, — the tournure, — the je ne 
sgais quoi .' — You are certainly very handsome, child! — 
quite my style I — I don't vt'onder that you make such a sen- 
sation ! — Old, young-, rich, and poor, do homage to the 
Beauty of Lyons ! — iVh I we live again in our children, — 
especially when they have our eyes and complexion ! 

Pauline, {languidly) Dear mothcryouspoil yourPauline! 
— (aside) I wish I knew who sent me these flowers ! 

Madame Dcschap. No child I — if I praise you, it is only 
to inspire you with a proper ambition. — You are born to 
make a great marriage. Beauty is valuable or worthless ac- 
cording as you invest the property to the best advantage.— 
Marian, go and order the carriage, [Exit Marian, c. l. 

Pavline. Who can it be that sends m?, every day, these 
beautiful flowers ? — how sweet they are I 

Enter Servant, c. l. 

Servant. Monsieur Beauseant, madam. 

Madame Deschap. Let him enter, Pauline, this is another 
offer ! — I know it is ! — Your father should engage an ad- 
ditional clerk to keep the account-book of your conquests. 



14 THE LADY O? LYOXS, 

Enter Beauseant, l. c 

Beauseant Ah, ladies, how fortunate I am to find you at 
home! — {aside.) How lovely she looks! — It is a great sac- 
rifice I make marrying into a family in trade ! — they will 
be eternally grateful I — (aloud.) Madam, you will permit me 
a word with your charming daughter. — {approaches PAUi.iNE 
who rises disdainfully.) — Mademoisselle, I have ventured to 
wait upon you, in a hope that you must long since have 
divined. Last night, when you outshone all the beauty o» 
Lyons, you completed your conquest over me ! You know 
that my fortune is not exceeded by any estate iri the Pro- 
vince, — you know that, but for the Revolution, which has 
defrauded me of my tilles, I should be noble. May I, then, 
trust that you will not reject my alliance ? I offer you my 
hand and heart. 

Pauline, {aside.) He has the air of a man who confers a 
favor ! (aloud.) Sir, you are very condescending — I thank 
you humbly; but being duly sensible of my own demerits, 
you must allow me to decline the honor you propose. 

[Curtsies and turns away. 

Beauseant. Decline! impossible! — you are not serious! — 
Madame, suffer me to appeal to you. I am a suitor for your 
daughter's hand — the settleirients shall be worthy her beauty 
and my station. May J wait on M. Deschappelles ? 

Madame Dcschap. M. Deschappelles never interferes in 
the domestic arrangements, — you are very obliging. If you 
were still a Marquis, or if my daughter were intended to 
marry a commoner, — why, perhaps, we might give you the 
preference. 

Beauseant. A commoner ! — we are all commoners in 
France now. 

Madam.e Deschap. In France, yes ; but there is a nobility 
still left in the other countries in Europe. We are quite 
aware of your good qualities, and don't doubt that you will 
find some lady more suitable to your pretentions. Weshall 
be always happy to see you as an acquaintance, M. Beau- 
seant ?— -My dear child, the carriage will be here presently 

Beauseant. Say no more, Madam ! — say no more ! — 
(aside.) Refused ! and by a merchant's daughter ! — refused! 
It will be all over Lyons before sunset ! — I will go and bury 
myself in ray chateau, sludy philosophy, and turn woman- 



THE LADY OF LYONS. 15 

hater. Refused ! they ought to be sent to a madhouse ! — 
Ladies, I have the honor to wish you a very good morning 

[Exit Beauseant, c. l. 
Madame Deschap. How forward these men are ! — I think, 
child, we kept up our dignity. Any girl, however inexpe- 
rienced, knows how to accept an offer, but it requires a vast 
deal of address to refuse one with proper condescension and 
disdain. I used to pratice it at school with the dancing- 
naster ! 

Enter Damas, c. l. 

Damas. Good morning, cousin Deschappelles. — Well, 
Pauline, are you recovered from last night's ball ? — So many 
triumphs must be very fatiguing. JEven M. Glavis sighed 
most' piteously when you departed; but that might be the 
effect of the supper. 

Pauline. M. Glavis, indeed ! 

Madame Deschap. M. Glavis I — as if my daughter would 
think of M. Glavis ! 

Damas. Hey-dey ! — wliy not? — Tlis father left him a very 
pretty fortune, and his birth is higher than yours, cousin 
Deschappelles. But perhaps you are looking to M. Beauseant 
. — his father was a Marquis before the Revolution. 

Pauline. M. Beauseant 1 — Cousin, you delight in torment- 
ing me ! 

Madame Deschap. Don't mind him, Pauline I — Cousin 
Damas, you have no susceptibility of feeling, — there is a 
certain indelicacy in all your ideas. — M. Beauseant knows 
already that he is no match for my daughter I 

Damas. Pooh ! pooh ! one would think you intended 
your daughter to marry a prince ! 

Madame Deschap. Well, and if I did ? — what then ?— 
Many a foreign prince — 

Damas, (interrupting her.) Foreign prince ! — foreign fid- 
dlestick ! — you ought to be ashamed of such nonsense at 
your time of life. 

Madame Deschap. My time of life ! — That is an exprcs- 
Bion never applied to any lady, till she is sixty-nine and 
three quarters ; and only then by the clergymen of the 
parish. 



16 THE LADY OF LYONS. 

Enter Servant, c. l. 

Servant. Madam, the carriage is at the door, 

[Exit Servant, c. l. 

Madame Deschap. Come, child, put on your bonnet — you 
really have a very thorough-bred air — not at all like your 
poor father. — {fondly.) Ah, you little coquette I when a 
young lady is always making mischief, it is a sure sign that 
ehe takes after her mother! 

Pauline. Good day, cousin Damas— and a befter humour 
to you — {going back to the table and takwg the Jlowers.) 
Who could have sent me these flowers ? 

[Exeunt Pauline and Madame Deschappelles. 

Damas. That would be an excellent girl if her head had 
not been turned. I fear she is now^ become incorrigible ! 
Zounds, what a lucky fellow, I am to be still a bachelor ! 
They may talk of the devotion of the sex — but the most 
faithful attachment in life is that of a woman in love — with 
herself I [Exit^ c. l. 

SCENE II. — The exterior of a small Village Inn — sign 
the Golden Lion — a few leagues from Lyons which is seen 
at a distance. 

Beauseant, (without, r.) Yes,'you may bait the horses, 
we shall rest here an hour. 

Enter Beauseant and Glavis, r. 

Glavis. Really, my dear Beauseant, consider that I have 
promised to spend a day or two witli you at your chateau— 
that I am quite at your mercy for my entertainment — and 
yet you are as silent and as gloomy as a mute at a funeral, 
or an Englishman at a party of pleasure. 

Beauseant. Bear with me ! — The fact is that I am misera- 
ble. 

Glavis. You — the richest and gayest bachelor in Lyons ? 

Beauseant. It is because I am a bachelor that I am misera- 
ble ^Thou knowest Pauline— the only daughter of the rich 

merchant. Mens. Deschappelles ? ' 

Glavis. Know her ! — Who does not ? —as pretty as Venus 
and as proud as Juno. 

Beauseant. Her taste is worse than her pride — {drawing 
mmsey up.) Know Glavis, she has actually refus«d wiei? 



TtiE LADY OF LYON^. l7 

Glavis, (aside.) So she has me ! — very consoling ! In all 
cases of heart-ache, the apphcation of another man's disap- 
pointment draws out the pain, and allays the irritation. — 
[aloud.) Refused you! and wherefore? 

Btauseant. I know not, unless it be because the Revolu- 
tion swept away my fatlier's title of marquis— and she will 
not marry a commoner. Now, as we liave no nobleman left 
in France, as we are all citizens, and equals, she can only 
hope, that, in spite of the war, some Enjrlish Milord or Gei- 
man count wiH risk his life, by coming to Lyons and making 
her my lady. Refused me, and with scorn I — By heaven I'JJ 
not submit to it tamely — I'm in a perfect fever of mortifica- 
tion and rage. — Refused me, indeed! 

Glavis. Be comforted, my dear fellow— I will tell you a 
secret. For the same reason she refused mk ! 

Beauscant. You I — that's a very different matter; But 
give me your hand, Glavis — we'll think of some plan to 
humble her. By Jove, I should like to see her married to 
a strolling player ! 

Eater Landlord and his Daughter, /ro;;i the Inn, l. d. in v. 

Landlord. Your servant, citizen Beauseant — servant. Sir, 
Perhaps you will take dinner before you proceed to your 
cheateau ; our larder is most plentifully supplied. 

Beauseant. I have no appetite. 

Glavis. Nor I. Still it is bad travelling on an empty 
stomach. Come, Landlord, let's See your bill. What have 
you got? [Takes and looks over bill of fare. 

■ — (Shout without.) " Long live tiie Prince I — -Long live the 
Prince !" 

Beauseant. The Prince ! — what Prince is that ? I thought 
we had no princes left in France. 

Landlord. Ha, ha! the lads always call him Prince. He 
has just won the prize in a shooting-match, and they are 
taking him home in triumph. 

Beauseant. Him! and who's Mr. Him? 

Landlord. Who should he be but the pride of the village 
Claude Mclnotte ?— Of course you have heard of Claude 
Melnotfe. 

Glavis, (giving hack the hill of fare.) Jlever had that 
honor. Soup — ragout of hair — roast chicken, and in short,' 



18 THE LADY OF LYOXS. 

Beauseant. The son of old Melnotte, the gardener 7 

Landlord. Exactly so — a wonderful young man. 

Beauseant. How wonderful? — are his cabbages better than 
other people's ? 

Landlord. Nay, he don't garden any more, his father left 
him well off. He's only a genus. 

Glavis. A what ? 

Landlord. A genus ! — a man who can do everything in 
ife, except anything that's useful ; — that's a genus. 

Beauseant. You raise my curiosity — proceed. 

Landlord, Well then, about four years ago, old Melnotte 
died, and left his son vvell to do in the world. We then all 
observed that a great change come over young. Claude ; he 
took to reading and Latin, and hired a professor from Lyons, 
who had so much in his head that he was forced to wear a 
great, full-bottom wig to cover it. Then he took a fencing- 
master, and a dancing-master, and a music-master, and then 
he learned to paint ; and at last it was said, that young 
Claude was to go to Paris, and set up for a painter. The 
lads laughed at him at first ; but he is a stout fellow, is Claude, 
and as brave as a lion, and soon taught them to laugh the 
wrong side of tiieir moutlis ; and noyv all the boys swear by 
him, and all the girls pray for him. 

Beauseant. A promising youth, certainly ! And why do 
they call him prince? 

Landlord. Partly because he is at the head of them all, 
and partly because he has such a proud way with him, and 
wears such fine clothes — and, in short — looks like a prince. 

Beauseant. And what could have turned the foolish fel- 
lows brain ? The Revolution, I suppose. 

Landlord. Yes — the Revolution that turns us all topsy- 
turvy — the revolution of Love." 

Beauseant. Romantic young Cory don ! And with whom 
is he in love ? 

Landlord. Why — but it is a secret, gentlemen. 

Beauseant. Oh! certainly. 

Landlord. Why, then I hear from his mother, good soul 
that it is no less a person than the beauty of Lyons, Pauline 
Deschappelles. 

Beauseant and Glavis. Ha ! ha ! Capital ! 

Landlord. You may laugh, but it is as true as I stand 
her©* 



THE ^ADY OF LVONS. 19 

Beauseant. And what does tlic beauty of I-yons say to 
his suit ? 

Landlord. Lord, sir, she never even condescended to look 
at him, though when he was a boy he worked in her fiither's 
garden. 

Beauseant. Are you sure of that? 

Landlord. His mother says that Mademoiselle does not 
know him by sight. 

Beauseant, {taking Glavis aside.) I have hit it. — I have 
hit it ; — here is our revenge ! Here is a prince for our 
haughty damsel. Do you take me? 

Glavis. Deuce take me if I do! 

Beauseant. Blockhead ! — it's a's clear as a map. What 
if we could make this elegant clown pass himself off as a 
foreign prince ? lend him money, clothes, equipage for the 
purpose ? — make him propose to Pauline ? — marry Pauline. 
Would it not be delicious ? 

Glavis. Ha ! ha ! — Excellent ! But how shall we support 
the necessary expenses of his highness? 

Beauseant, Pshaw ! Revenge is worth a much larger sac- 
rifice than a few hundred louis ; — as for details, my valet is 
the truest fellow in the world, and vie shall have the appoint- 
ment of Jiis highness's establishment. Let's go to him at 
once, and see if he be really this Admiral Crichton. 

Glavis. With all my heart , — but the dinner ? 

Beauseant. Always thinking of dinner ! Hark ye. Land- 
lord, how far is it to young Melnotte's cottage ? I should 
like to see sticli a prodigy. 

Landlord. Turn down the lane, — then strike across the 
common, — and you will see his mother's cottage. 

Beauseant. True, he lives with his mother. — (aside ) We 
will not trust to an old woman's discretion ; better send for 
him hither. I'll just step in and write him a note. Come, 
Glavis. 

Glavis. Yes, — Beauseant, Glavis and Co., manufacturers 
of princes, wholesale and retail, — an uncommonly genteel 
line of business. But why so grave ? 

Beauseant. You think only of the sport — I of the revenge. 
J^xeunt within the Jnn^ d. in f. 



20 TlIK LADY OP LYONS. 

SCENE III.— 7'Ae interior of Melnotte's Coilage; 
flowers placed here and there ; a guitar on an oaken table^ 
with a portfolio, S^c; a picture on an easily covered by a 
curtain ; fencing-foils crossed over the mantle -fie ce ; an 
attempt at rejinement in spite of the homeliness of the fur- 
niture, ^-c; a staircase to the right conducts to the upper, 
story. 

(Shout without, R. u. K ) " Long live Claude Melnotlc I' 
Long' live the Prince !" 

Widow Melnotte. llark I — there's my dear son ; carried 
off the prize, I'm sure ; and now he'll want to treat them all. 

Claude Melnotte, {opening the door.) Uhat! you won't 
come in, my friends ! Well, well, — there's a trifle to make 
merry elsewhere. Good day, to you all, — good day I 

{Shout.) "Hurrah ! Long live prince Claude 1" 

Enter Claude Melnotte, l. d. in f. with a rijle in his hand. 

Melnotte. Give me joy, dear mother ! I've won the prize ! 
—never missed one slMt I Is it not handsome, this gun ? 

Widow. Humph ! Well, what is it worth Claude? 

Melnotte. Worth! What is a ribbon worth to a soldier 7 
Worth ! — everything ! Glory is priceless ! ; 

Widow. Leave glory to great folks. Ah ! Claude, Claude ; 
castles in the air cost avast deal to keep up ! How is all 
this to end ? What good does it do thee to learn Latin, and 
sing songs, and pliy on the guitar, and fence, and dance, 
and paint pictures ? all very fine ; but what does it bring in ? 

Melnotte. Wealth! wealth, my mother ! — Wealth to the 
mind — wealth to the heart — high tiioughts — bright dreams 
— the hope of fame — the ambition to he v7onhier to love 
Pauline. 

Widow. My poor son ! — The young lady will never think 
of thee. 

Melnotte. Do the stars think of us ? Yet if the prisoner 
see them shine in his dungeon, would'st thou bid him turn 
av/ay from their lustre ? Even from this low cell, poverty, 
— I lift my eyes to Pauline and forget my chains. {Goes to 
the picture and drains aside the curtain.) See, this is her 
image — painted from memory. — Oh, how the canvas wrongs 
her ! {takes up the brush, and throws it aside.) I shall ncvei 



THIS LADY OF LYONS. 21 

be a painter, 1 can paint no likene?s but one, and that is 
above all art. I would turn soldier — France needs soldiers ! 
But to leave the air that Pauline breathes I What is the hour 
— so late ; I will tell thee a secret, mother. Thou knowstnot 
for the last six v.-eeks I have sent every .day the rarest 
flowers to Pauline ; — she wears them. I have seen them on 
her breast. All, and then the whole universe seemed filled 
with odours ! 1 have now grown more bold — I have poured 
my worship into poetry — 1 have sent the verses to Pauline 
• — I have signed them with my ov/n name. My mer-senger 
ought to be back by this time : I bade liim wait for the 
answer. 

Widow. And whut answer do you expect, Claude ? 

Melnotie. Tiiat which the Queen of Nevarre sent to the 
poor troubadour : — "Let me see the Oracle that can tell na- 
tions I am beautifull" She will admit me. I shall hear her 
Bpeak — T shall meet her eyes — I sliall read upon her cheek 
the sweet thoujrhts that translate themselves into blushes. 
Then, then, oh, then, — she may forget that I am the peasant's 



son 



Widow. Nay, if she will but hear thee talk, Claude ! 

Mclnotte. I Ibrsee it all. She will tell me that desert is 
the true rank. She will give me a badge — a flower— a 
glove ! Oh, rapture ! I shall join the armies of the Repub- 
lic — I shall rise — I shall vAn a name that beauty will not 
blush to hear. I ?hall return with the right to say to her — 
♦' See how love does not level the proud, but raise the hum- 
ble !" Oh, how my heart swells within me I — Oh, what 
glorious Prophets of the Future are Vouth and Hope ! 

[Knock at the door n. in f. 

Widoto. Come in. 

Enter Caspar, d. in f. 

Melnotte. Welcome, Caspar, welcome. Where is the 
letter ? Why do you turn away, man ? where is the letter? 

[Caspar gives him one. 
This ! — This is mine, the one I entrusted to tliee. Didst 
Chou not leave it I? 

Gaspar. Yes, I left it. 

Melnolte. My own verses returned to me. Nothing else ? 

Gaspar. Thou wilt be proud to hear how thy messenger 
vias honoured. For thy sake, Melnotte, — I have borne that 
which no Frenchman can boar without disgrace. 



22 THE l.ADY OP LYON'S. 

Melnotte. Disgrace, Gaspar ! Disgrace? 

Gaspar. I gave thy letter to the porter who passed it from 
lackey to lackey till it reached the lady it was meant for. 

Melnotte. It reached her, then ; — are you sure of that ? 
It reached her, — well, well ! 

Gaspar. It reached her, and was returned to me with 
blows. Dost hear, Melnotte ? with blows! Death ! are we 
slaves still, that we are to be thus dealt with, we peasants? 

Melnotte. With blows ? No, Gaspar, no ; not blows ? 

Gaspar, I could show thee the marks if it were not so 
(Jeep a shame to bear them. The lackey who tossed thy 
letter into the mire swore that his lady and her mother never 
were so insulted. What could thy letter contain, Claude ? 

Melnotte, {looking over the letter.) Not a line that a serf 
might not have written to an empress. No not one ! 

Gaspar. They promise thee the same greeting they gave 
me, if thou wilt pass that way. Shall we endure this, Claude ? 

Melnotte, (wringing Caspar's hand.) Forgive me, the 
fault was mine, I have brought this on thee ; I will not for- 
get it; thou shalt be avenged ! The heartless insolence! 

Gaspar. Thou art moved, Melnotte ; think not of me ; I 
would go through fire and water to serve thee ; but — a blow'. 
It is not the bruise that galls,— it is the blush, Melnotte I 

Melnotte. Say, what message ? — How insulted ? — Where- 
fore ?— What the offence ? 

Gaspar. Did you not write to Pauline Deschappelles, the 
daughter of the rich merchant? 

Melnotte. Well?— 

Gaspar. Are you not a peasant — a gardener's son?— 
that was the offence. Sleep on it, Melnotte Blows to a 
French citizen, blows ! [Exit d. in f. 

Widow. Now you are cured, Claude! 

Melnotte, {tearing the letter.) So do I scatter her image 
to the winds— I will stop her in the open streets — I will 
insult her — I will beat her menial ruffians — I will — {turns 
suddenly to Widow.) Mother, am I Hump-backed — dei 
formed — hideous. 
Widow. You! 

Melnotte. A coward — a thief — a liar? 
Widow. You ! 



THE I.ADY OF LYONS, 33 

Melnoite. Or a dull fool — a vain, drivelling, brainless idiot ? 

Widoio. No, no. 

Melnoite. What am I tlien — v^^orse than all these ? Why, 
I am a peasant ! What has a peasant to do with love ? 
Vain Revolutions, why lavish your cruelty on the great ? 
Oh that we — we the hewers of wood and drawers of water, 
had been swept away, so that the proud might learn what 
the world would be without us ! — {Knock at the d. in F 

Enter Servant /rom the Inn, d. in f. 

Servant. A letter for Citizen Melnotte. 

Melnotte. A letter ! from her perhaps — who sent thee I 

Servant, (r.) Who, Monsieur — I mean citizen Beausearit, 
who stops to dine at the Golden Lion, on his way to his 
chateau, i 

Melnoite. Beauseant! — (reads.) "Young man, I know 
thy secret— thou lovest above thy station ; If thou hast wit, 
courage and discretion, I can secure to thee the realization 
of thy most sanguine hopes ; and the soul condition I ask 
in return is, that thou shalt be steadfast to thine own ends. 
I shall demand from thee a solemn oath to marry her whom 
thou lovest; to bear her to thine home on thy wedding 
night. I arn serious— if thou wouldst learn more, lose not 
a moment, but follow the bearer of this letter to thy friend 
and patron, " Charles Beauseant." 

Melnotte, Can I believe my eyes ? Are our own pas- 
sions the sorcerers that raise up for us spirits of good or 
evil ? I will go instantly. [Exit Servant, d. in F. 

Widow. What is this, Claude ? 

Melnotte. " Marry her whom thou lovest" — "bear her to 
thine own home," — O, revenge and love ! which of you is 
the strongest ? — {gazing on the picture.) Sweet face, thou 
smilest on me from the canvass; weak fool that I am, do I 
then, love her still? No, it is the vision of my own romance 
that I have worshipped ; is it the reality, to which I bring 
, scorn for scorn. — Adieu, mother ; I will return anon. My 
brain reels — the earth swims before me. — {looking again a 
tJie letter.) No, it is not mockery; I do not dream ! 

[Exit D. ttt F, 

KND OP ACT I, 



34 THE LADY O? LYONS. 

ACT II. 

SCENE I. — The Gardens 0/ M. DEgcHAPPELLEs' Home, 
at Lyons— ihs House seen at the back of the Stage. 

Enter Beauseant and GhAyis from the House, l. s. k. 

Beauseant. Well, what lliink you of my plot ? Has it 
not succeeded to a miracle ? The instant that I introduced 
His Highness, the Frnice of Como, to the pompous mother 
and the scornful daughter, it was all over with them ; he 
came — he saw — he conquered ; and, though it is not many 
days since he arrived, they have already promised him the 
hand of Pauline. 

Glavis. It is lucky though, that you told them his High- 
ness travelled incognito, for fear the directory (who are not 
very fond of princes) sljould lay him by the heels : for ho 
has a wonderful wish to keep up his rank, and scatters our 
gold about with as much coolness as if he were watering 
his own flower-pots. 

Beauseant. True, he is damnably extravagant ; I think 
the sly dog does it out of malice. However, it must be 
owned that he reflects credit on his loyal subjects, and 
makes a very pretty figure in his fine clothes with my 
diamond snuff-box. 

Glavis. And my diamond ring ! But do you think that 
he will be firm to the last ? I fancy I see symptoms of re- 
lenting : he will never keep up his rank, if he once let out 
his conscience. 

Beauseant. His oath binds him ; he cannot retreat with- 
out being forsworn, and those low fellows are always super- 
stitious ! But, as it is, I tremble lest he be discovered ; that 
bluff Colonel Damaa (Madame Deschappelles' cousin) evi« 
dently suspects him ; we must make haste and conclude 
thfe farce ; I have thought of a plan to end it this very day. 
I Glavis. This very day ! Poor Pauline ! her dream will be 
oon over. 

Beauseant. Yes, this day they shall be married ; thia 
evening according to his oath, he shall carry his bride to 
the Golden Lion, and then pomp, equipage, retiruf*. ar»i 
title, all shall vanish at once ; and her Highness Uie 'Prv> 



THE LADY OF LYONS. 25 

eess shall find thai slie has refused tlic son of a Marqiiis, to 
marry the son of a gardener. — Oh, PauUnc ! once loved^ 
now hated, )'et still not relinquished, thou slialt drain the cup 
to the dregs, — thou shalt know what it is to be humbled ! 

Enter, from ike House, l, s. e. Melnotte as the Prince oj 

Como,leadivg in Pauline; Madame Deschappelles 

fanning herself ; arid Colonel Damas. 

Beauseant and Glavis how respectfully. Paullne and 
Melnotte walk apart^ 

Madame Deschop. Good monuTig, gentleman ; really 1 
am so fatigued with laughter ; the dear Prince is so enter 
taining, what wit he has! Any one might see that he has 
spent his whole life in courts. 

Damas. And what the deuce do you know about courts, 
cousin Deschappelles ? You women regard men just as 
you buy books — you never care what is in them, but how 
they are bound and lettered. S'death, I don't think you 
would even look at your bible, if it had not a title to it. 

Muda7ne Deschap. How course you are, cousin Damas ! 
— quite the manners of a barrack — you don't deserve to be 
one of our family ; really we must drop your acquaintance 
when PauUne marries. I cannot patronize any relations 
that would discredit my future son in law, the Prince of 
Como. 

Melnotte, (advancing.) These are beautiful gardens. Ma- 
dame, (Beauseant and Glavis retire.) —who planned them ? 

Madame Deschap. A gardener named Melnotte, your 
Highness — an honest man who knew his station. I can't 
say as much for his son — a presuming fellow, who — ha ! 
ha! — actually wrote verses — such doggrcll — ^to my daughter. 

Pauline. Yes — how you would have laughed at them, 
Prince I — you who write such beautiful verses! 

Melnotte. This Melnotte must be a monstrous impuden 
person ! 

Damas. Is he good-looking ? 

Madame Deschap. I never notice such canaille — an ugly 
mean-looking clown, if I remember right. 

Damns. Yet I heard your porter say he was wonderfully 
like his Highness, 



26 THE LADY OF LYONS. 

Melnolte, (taking snvff.) You are complimentary. 

Madame Dcschap. For sluime, cousin Damas ! — like the 
Prince, indeed. 

Pauline. Like you ! Ah, mother like our beautiful Prince. 
I'll never speak to you again, cousin Damas. 

Melnotte, (aside.) Humph ! — rank is a great beautifier ! I 
never passed for an Apollo while I was a peasant; if I ai 
BO handsome as a prince, what shoidd I be as an emperor 
— (aloud.) Monsieur Beauscant, will you honour me ? 

[Offers Snuff ^• 

Beauscant. No, your Highness I have no small vices 

Melnotte. Nay, if it were a vice you'd be sure to htJ it, 
Monsieur Beauscant. 

Madame Deschap. Ha! ha! — how very se-^er.^ W wh»4 
wit! 

Beauseant, (in a rage and aside.) Curse his iir pertinence ! 

Madame Deschap. What a superb srMrf-^^^x I 

Pauline. And what a beautiful ring ! 

Melnotte. You like the box—a tr'tfle — interesting perhaps 
from associations — a present fi:orn Louis XIV. to my great- 
great-grandrnother. Hon^<ir me by accepting it. 

Bcauseant, (plttcki'ug him by the sleeve.) How ! — what 
the devil I M^ kaii! — arc you mad! It is worth five hun- 
dred louis. 

Melnotte, (unheeding him and turning to Pauline.) And 
you like this ring ! Ah, it has indeed a lustre since your 
eyes have shone on it. (placing it on herjinger.) Hence- 
forth hold mc, sweet enchantress, the Slave of the Ring. 

Glavis, (pulling him.) Stay, stay — what are you about? 
My maiden aunt's legacy — a diamond of the first water. 
You shall be hanged for swindling, sir. 

Melnotte^ (pretending not to hear.) It is curious this ring; 
it is the one with which my grandfallier, the Doge of Ve- 
nice married the Adriatic! , 

[Madame and Pauline examine the ring. 

Melnotte, (to Beauseant and Glavis.) Fie, gentleman, 
princes must be generous ! — (turns to Damas who watches 
them closely.) These kind friends have my interest so much 
at heart, that they are as careful of my property as if it 
w^re tlieir own. 



THE LADY OF LYONS, 27 

Beauseant and Glavis, (confusedly) Ha ! ha I — very good 
joke that. . 

[Appear to remonstrate with Melnotte in dumb show, 

Damas. What's all that whispering? I am sure there is 
some juggle here; hang me, if I think he is an Italian, after 
all. Gad ! I'll try him. Scrvitore umillissimo, Exccllcnza.* 

Melnotte. Hum — what does he mean, I wonder? 

Damas. Godo di vedervi in buona salute.t 

Melnotte. Hem — hem! 

Damas. Fa bel tempo — che si dice di nuovo 1% 

Melnotte. Well, Sir, what's all that gibberish ? 

Damas. Oh, oh ! — only Italian, your Highness ! — The 
Prince of Como does not understand his own language ! 

Melnotte. Not as you pronounce it, who the deuce could ? 

Madame Deschap. Ha, ha ! cousin Damas, never pretend 
to what you don't know. 

Pauline. Ha ! ha I cousin Damas ; you speak Italian, in- 
deed ! [Makes a mocking gesture at him. 

Beauseant, (to Gla.vis.) Clever dog ! — how ready ! 

Glavis. Ready, yes ; with my diamond ring ! — Damn his* 
readiness ! 

, Damas. Laugh at me ! — laugh at a colonel in the French 
army ! — The fellow's an imposter ; I know he is. I'll see 
if he understands fighting as well as he does Italian — 
(Goes up to him, and aside.) Sir, you are a jackanapes ! — 
Can you construe that ? 

Melnotte. No, Sir ! I never construe affronts in the pre- 
sence of ladies ; by-and-by I shall be happy to take a lesson 
— or give one. 

Damas. I'll find the occasion, never fear \ 

Madame Deschap. Where are you going, cousin ? 

Damas. To correct my Italian. [Exit into house, L. s. E. 

Beauseant, (to Glavis.) Let us after, and pacify him ; he 
evidently suspects something. 

Glavis. Yes I — but my diamond ring ! 

Beauseant. And my box! — We are over-taxed, fellow- 
ubjectl — wemust stop the supplies, and dethrone the Prince 

♦ Your Excellency's most humble servant. 
1 1 am glad to see you in good health, 
t Fine weather. What news is there 7 



ie6 THE LADY OF LVOXS. 

Glavis. Prince I — he ought to be heir-apparent to King 
Stork ! [Exeunt into house, l. s. k. 

Madame Deschap. Dare I ask your highness to forgive 
jny cousin's insufterable vulgarity ? 

Pauline. Oh, yes I — you will torsive his manner for the 
sake of his heart. 

Melnoitc. And for the sake of his cousin. Ah, Madam, 
there is one comfort in rank, we are so sure of our posi- 
tion that we are not easily affronted. Besides, M. Damas 
has bought the right of indulgence from his friends, by 
never showing it to his enemies. 

Pauline. Ah ! he is, indeed, as brave in action as he is 
rude in speech. He rose from tlie ranks to his present 
grade, — and in two years ! 

Melnotte. In two years I — two years, did you say ? 

Madame Deschap, (aside.) I don't like leaving girls alone 
with their lovers ; but, with a prince, it would be so ill-bred 
to be prudish. [Exit into house, i^. s. e. 

Melnotte. You can be proud of your connection with one 
who owes his position to merit, — not birlh- 

Pauline. Why, yes ; but still 

Melnotte. Still what, Pauline? 

Pauline. There is something glorious in the Heritage of 
Command. A man who has ancestors is like a Representa- 
tive of the Past. 

Melnotte. True ; but, like other representatives, nine 
times out of ten he is a silent member. Ah, Pauline ! not 
to the Past, but to the Future, looks true nobility, and finds 
it blazon in posterity. 

Pauline. You say this to please me, who have no ances- 
tors ; but you. Prince, must be proud of so illustrious a 
race ! 

Melnotte, No, no ! I would not, were I fifty times a 
prince, be a pensioner on the Dead ! I honour birth and 
ancestry when they are regarded as the incentives to exer- 
tion, not the title-deeds to sloth ! I honour the laurels that 
overshadow the graves of our fathers ; — it is our fathers I 
emulate, when I desire that beneath the evergreen I my- 
self have planted my own ashes may repose I Deafest v 
could'st thou but see with my eyes I 



THE LADY OF LY0^\3. S3 

Pauline. I cannot forego pride when I look on thee, and 
think^hat thou lovest me. Sweet Prince, tell me again of 
tliy palace by tlie lake of Como ; it is so pleasant to hear 
of thy splendours since thou didst swear to mc that they 
would be desolate without Pauline , and when thou de- 
scriLest them, it is with a mocking lip and a noble scorn, as 
if custom had made thee disdain greatness. 

Nelnotte. Nay, dearest, nay, if thou wouldst have me 
paint 
The home to which, could Love fulfil its prayers. 
This hand would lead thee, listen I* — a deep vale 
Shut out by Alpine hills from the rude world ; 
Near a clear lake, margined by fruits of gold 
And whispering myrtles' ; glassing softest skies 
As cloudless, save with rare and roseate shadows, 
As I would have thy fate ! 

Pauline. My own dear love ! 

Melnotte. A palace lifting to eternal summer 
Its marble walls, from out a g'ossy bower 
Of coolest foliage musical with birds. 
Whose songs should syallable thy name. At noon 
We sit beneath the arching vines, and wonder 
Why Earth could be unhappy, while the Heavens 
Still left us youth and love ! We'd have no friends 
That were not lovers ; no ambition, save 
To excel them all in love ; we'd read no books 
That were not tales of love — that we might smile 
To think how poorly eloquence of words 
Translates the poetry of hearts like ours ! 
And when night came, amidst the breathless Heavens 
We'd guess what star should be our home when love 

*The reader will obsero that Melnotte evades the request of Pau- 
line. He proceeds to describe a home, which he does not say he pos- 
sesses, but to which he would lead her, ^^cou'A love fulfil its prayers.^ 
This caution is intended as a reply to a sagacious critic who cen. 
tures the description, because it is not an exact and prosaic inven. 
?ory of the characteristics of the Lake of Conio ! — When Melnotte 
for instance talks of birds, "that syllable the name of Pauline," 
(by the way a literal translation from an Italian poet.) he is not 
thinking of ornithology, but probably of the Arabian Nights. He ia 

anting the extravagant^ but natural enthusiaein, of tbe Poet and 
Lover, 



30 



THE LADV OF LYONS. 



Becomes immortul ; while the perfumed light 
Stole through the mists of alabaster lamps, 
And every air was heavy with the sighs 
Of orange groves and music from sweet lutes. 
And murmurs of low fountains that gush forth 
I' the midst of roses !— Dost thou like the picture ? 

Pauline. Oh ! as the bee upon the flower, I hang 
Upon the honey of thy eloquent tongue ! 
Am I not blest ? And if I love too wildly. 
Who would not love thee, like Pauline ? 

Melnotte, {bitterly) OIj, false one ! 
It is the prince thou lovest, not the man ; 
If in the steed of luxury, pomp, and power, 
I had painted poverty, and toil and care. 
Thou had'si found no honey on my tongue ; — PaulinOi 
That is not love ! 

Pauline. Thou wrong'st me cruel Prince ! 
'Tis true 1 might not at the first been won. 
Save through the weakness of a flattered pride; 
But 71016',— Oh ! trust me,- — could'st thou fall from powef 
And sink 

Melnotte. As low as that poor gardener^s son 
Who dared to lift his eyes to thee. 

Pauline. Even then, 
Methinks thou would'st be only made more dear 
By the sweet thought that I could prove how deep 
Is woman's love I We are like the insects, caught 
By the poor glittering of a garish flame ! 
But oh, the wings once scorched,— the brightest star 
Lures us no more ; and by the fatal light 
We cling till death ! 

Melnotte. Angel ! 
{Aside.) O conscience ! conscience ! 
It must not be ; — her love hath grown a torture 
Worse than her hate. I will at once to Beauseant, 

And ha ! he comes. Sweet love, one moment leave 

me. 
I have business with tliese gentlemen — I — I 
Will forthwith join you. 

Pauline. Do not tarry long ! {Exit into House, t. s. & 



THE LADY OF LYOtNS- 31 

Enter Beauseant and Glwis froin House, i.. s. e. 

Melnotte. Release me from mv oath, — I will not marry 
her ? 

Beauseant. Then thou art perjured. 

Melnotte. No, I was not in my senses when I swore ta 
thee to marry her ! I was blind to all but her scorn ! — ■ 
deaf to all but my passion and my rage ! Give me back my 
poverty and my lionour ! 

Beauseant. It is too late, — you must marry her ! and this 
day. I have a story already coined, — and sure to pass cur- 
rent. This Uamas suspects thee, — he will set the police to 
work ; thou wilt be detected — Pauline will despise and exe- 
crate thee. Thou wilt be sent to the common goal as a 
swindler. 

Melnotte. Fiend ! 

Beauseant. And in the heat of the girl's resentment, 
(you know of what resentment is capable) and the parent's 
shame, she will be induced to marry the first that offers — 
even perhaps your humble servant. 

Melnotte. Youl No ; that were worse — for thou hast no 
mercy ! I will marry her — I will keep my oath. Quick, 
then, with the damnable invention thou art hatching; — 
quick, if thou would'st not have me strangle thee or myselfl 

Glavis. What a tiger ? Too fierce for a Prince ; he ought 
to have been the (irand Turk. 

Beauseant. Enough — I will despatch; be prepared. 

[Exeunt Beauseant and Glavxs into House, l. s. b. 

Enter Davlas, from the House, l. s. e., with two swords. 

Damas. Now, then, sir, the ladies are no longer your ex- 
cuse. I have brought you a couple of dictionaries ; let us 
see if your Highness can find out the Latin for hilbo. 

Melnotte. Away, Sir ! — I am in no humour for jesting. 

Damas. I see you understand something of the grammar 
vou decline the noun substantive "small sword*' with great 
ease ; but that won't do — you must take a lesson in parsing 

Melnotte. Fool! 

Damns. Sir, — a man who calls me a fool insults the lady 
who bore me ; there's no escape for you — fight you shall 
or 



32 THE LADY OF LYONS, 

Melnotte, (l.) Oh, cnougli, enough ! — take your ground. 
{They Jight ; Damas is disarmed. — Melnotte takes up the 
sword and returns it to Damas respectfully.) A just punish- 
ment to the brave soldier who robs the state of its best 
property — the sole right to his valour and his life. 

Damas., (r,^ Sir, you fence exceedingly well ; you must be 
a man of lionour — I don't care a jot whether you are a 
prince ; but a man who has carte and tierce at his fingers' 
ends must be a gentleman. ^ 

Melnotte, {aside.) Gentleman ! Ay, I was a Gentleman 
before I turned conspirator ; for honest men are the gentle- 
men ofNeiture I Colonel they tell me you rose from the ranks. 

Damas. I did. 

Melnotte. And in two years ? 

Damas. It is true ; that's no wonder in our army at pre- 
sent. Why, the oldest general in the service is scarcely 
thirty, and we have some of two-and-twenty. 

Melnotte, Two-and-twenty ! 

Damas. Yes ; in the French army, now-a-days, promo- 
tion is not a matter of purchase. We are all heroes be- 
cause we may be all general^. We have no fear of the 
cypress because we may all hope for the laurels. 

Melnotte. A general at two and-twenty {turning away.)— •> 
Sir, may I ask you a favour one of these days. 

Damas. Sir, I shall be proud to grant it. — It it astonish 
ing how much Hike a man after I've fought with him. 

[Hides the swords, r. 

Enter Madame and Beauseant fro77i house, l. s. e. 

Madame Deschap. Oh, Prince! — Prince! — What do 1 
hear ? You nmst fiy, — ^j'/du must quit us I 

Melnotte. I !— 

Beauseant. Yes, Prince; read this letter, just received 
from my friend at Paris, one of the Directory ; they sus- 
pect you of designs against the Republic; they are very 
suspiciou.3 of princes, and your family take part with tha 
Austrians. Knowing that I introduced your Highness at 
I>yons, my friend writes to me to say that you nmst quit 
the town inirncdia-tely or you will he arrested, — thrown in- 
to prison, — perhaps guillotioncd ! Fly ! I will order horses 
to your carriage instantly. Fly to Marseilles; there you 
ean take ship to Leghorn. 



THE LADY OF LYONS. 33 

Madame Deschap. And what's to become of Pauline f 
Am I not to be a mother to a princess after all ? 

Enter Paullne and M. DEscHAPrELLES /rom house, l. s. e. 

Pauline, {throwing herself into Melnotte's arms.) You 
must leave us I — Leave Pauline ! 

Beauseant. Not a moment is to be wasted. 

Mons. Deschap. I will" go to the Magistrates and in- 
quire 

Beauseant. Then he is lost : the magistrates, hearing ha 
is suspected will order his arrest. 

Madame Deschap. And I shall not be Princes Dowager ! 

Beauseant. Why net?- There is only one thing to be 
done: — send for the priest — let the marriage take place at 
once, and the Prince carry home a bride ! 

Melnotte. Impossible \ — {aside,) Villain! — I know not 
what I say. 

Madame Deschap. What, lose my child ? 

Beauseant. And gain a Princess ! 

Madame Deschap. Oh, Monsieur Beauseant, you are so 
very kind, — it must be so,-^we ought not to be selfish, — my 
daughter's happiness is at stake. She will go away, too, in 
a carriage and six ! 

Pauline. Thou art here still, — I cannot part from thee,— 
my heart will break. 

Melnotte. But thou wilt not consent to this hasty union, 
—thou wilt not wed an outcast — a fugitive. 

Pauline. Ah ! If thou art in danger, who should share 
it but Pauline ? 

Melnotte, {aside.) Distraction ! — If the earth could swal- 
low me ] 

Mons. Deschap. Gently 1 — gently ! The settlements — the 
contracts — my daughter's dowry ! 

Melnotte. The dowry ! — I am not base enough for that; 
no, not one farthing ! 

Beauseant, {to Madame.) Noble fellow ! Really your good 
husband is too mercantile in these matters. Monsieur 
Deschappelles, you hear his Highness ; we can arrange the 
Battlements by proxy, — 'tis the way with people of quality. 

Mons. Deschap. But i 

Madame Deschap. Hold your tongue! — Don't expose 
yourself! 



34 THE LADY OF LYOXS. 

Beauseant. I will bring the priest in a trice. Go in all 
of you and prepare ; the carriage shall be at the door before 
the ceremony is over. 

Madame Deschap. Be sure there are six horses Beauseant ! 
You are very good to have forgiven us for refusing you ; 
but, you see — a prince ! 

Beauseant, And such a prince ! Madame, I cannot 
blush at the success of so illustrious a rival — (aside.) Now 
will I follow them to the village — enjoy my triumph, and 
tomorrow — in the hour of thy shame and grief, I think, 
proud girl, thou wilt prefer even these arms to those of the 
gardener s son. * [Exit Bkauseant. 

Madame Deschap. Come, Monsieur Dcschappelles — give 
your arm to her Highness that is to be. 

Mons. Deschap. I don't like doing business in such a hurry 
• — 'tis not the way with the house of Dcschappelles and Co. 

Madame Deschap. There now — you fancy you are in the 
counting house— don't you ? [Pushes him to Pauline. 

Melnotte. Stay, — stay, Pauline — one word. Have you 
no scruple — no fear ? Speak — it is not yet too late. 

Pauline. When I loved thee, thy fate became mine. 
Triumph or danger — ^joy or sorrow — I am by thy side. 

Dainas. Well, well. Prince, thou art u lucky man to be so 
loved. She is a good little girl in spite of her foibles — make 
her as happy as if she were not to be a princess, (slapping 
him on the shoulder.) Come, Sir, I wish you joy — youngs 
tender — lovely ; — zounds I envy you ! 

Melnolte, (who has stood a part in gloomy abstraction.) Do 

YOU?* 

* On the stage the following lines are added : — 

♦' Do you ? Wise judges are we of each other. 

"Woo, wed, and bear her home!" so runs the bond 

To which I sold myself— and then — what then ? 

Away ! — I will not look beyond the Hour. 

Like children in the dark, I dare not face 

The shades that gather round me in the distance. 

You envy me — I thank you — you may read 

My joy upon my brow — I thank you, Sir ! 

If hearts had audible language, you v/ould hear 

How mine would answer when you talk of envy ! 

PICTURE. — END OF ACT II, 



THE LADY OF LYONS. 3S 

ACT m. '^■ 

SCENE I.— The Exterior of the Golden Lion— time, twi- 
light. The moon rises during the Scene. 

Enter Landlord atjc^ his Daughter, /rom the Inn, l. d. f. 

Landlord. Ha — ha — ha ! Well, I never shall get over 
t Our Claude is a prince with a veng-eance novi'. Hia 
carriaore breaks down at my inn — ha — Ija ! 

Janet. And what airs the young lady gives herself! " Is 
this the best room you have, young woman ?" with such a 
toss of the head ! 

Landlord. Well, get in, Janet ; get in and see to the sup- 
per : the servants must sup before they go back. 

[Exeunt Landlord and Janet, l. d. f. 

Enter Beauseant and Glavis, r. 

Beauseant. You see our Princess is lodged at last — one 
stage more, and she'll be at her journey's end — the beauti- 
ful palace at the foot of the xilps ! — ha — ha ! 

Glavis. Faith, I pity the poor Pauline — especially if she's 
going to sup at the Golden Lion {makes a wry face.) I shall 
never forget that cursed ragout. 

Enter MELNOTT,/»-om the Inn, l. d. f, 

Beauseant. Your servant, my Prince ; you reigned most 
worthily. I condole with you on your abdication. I ann 
afraid that your Highness's retinue are not very fiithful 
servants. I think they will quit you at the moment of your 
fall — 'tis the fate of greatness. But you are welcome to 
your fine clothes — also the diamond snuff-box, which Louis 
XIV. gave to your great-great-grand mother. 

Glavis. And the ring with which your grandfather tha 
Doge of Venice married the Adriatic. 

Melnotte. I have kept my oath, gentleman, say — have I 
ept nny oath ? 

Beauseant. Most religiously. ' 

Melnotte. Then you hav3 done with me and mine — away 
with you! 

Beauseant. How, knave? 



36 THE I^DV tiF i.YONS. 

Melnotie. Loolt you, our bond is over. Proud conquerors 
that we are, we have won the victory over a simple girl — 
compromised her lionour — embittered her life — blasted, in 
tlieir very blossoms, all the flowers of her youth. This is 
your triumph, — it is my shame! (Turns to Beauseant.) 
Enjoy that triumph, but not in my sigh). I was her be- 
trayer — I am her protector! Cross butherpath — one word 
of scorn, one look of insult— nay, but one quiver of that 
mocking lip, and I will teach thee thutbittcr word thou hast 
graven eternally in this heart — Repentance ! 

Beauseant. His Highness is most grandiloquent. 

Melnotte. Highness me no more. Beware ! Remorse, 
lias made me a new being. Away with you ! There is 
danger in me. Away ! 

Glavis, (aside.) He's an awkv/ard fellow to deal with, 
come away, Beauseant. 

Beauseant. I know the rcppect due to ranlc. Adieu, my 
Prince. Any commands at Lyons ! yet hold — I promised 
you 200 louis on your wedding-daj'^ ; here they are. 

Melni>ite, (dashing the purse to the ground.) I gave you 
revenge, I did not sell it. Take up your silver, Judas: take 
it. Ay, it is fit you should learn to stoop. 

Beauseant. You will beg my pardon tor this some day. 
(aside to Glavis.) Come to my chateau — I shall return 
hither to-morrow to learn how Pauline ?ikes her nevt'^ dignity. 

Melnotte. Are you not gone yet ? 

Beauseant. Your Highness' most obedient, most faithful — 

Glavis. And most humbJe servants. Ha ! ha ! 

[Exeunt Beauseant andu Glavis, r. 

Melnotte. Thank heaven, I had no weapon, or I should 
have slain them. Wretch ! what can I say ? where turn? 
On all sides mockery — the very boors within — (Laughter 
■>''rom the inn.') — 'Sdeath, if even in this short absence the 
exposure should have chanced. I will call her. We will 
go hence. I have already sent one I can trust to my mother's 
house. There at least none can insult her agon}' — gloat 
upon her shame ! There alone must she learn what a villain 
she has sworn to love. [As he turns to the door^ 

Enter Pauline /rom the Inn, l. d. p. 
Pauline. Ah, my Lord, what a place ! I never saw 
such rude people. They stare and wink so. I think the 



THE LADY OF LYONS. 37 

very sight of a prince, though he travels incognito, turns 
their honest heads. What a pity the carriage should break 
down iii such a spot I You are not well — the drops stand 
on your brow — your hand is feverish. 

Melnotte. Nay, it is but a passing spasm ; the air — 

Pauline. Is not the soft air of your native south. [Pans* 
How pale he is — indeed thou art not well. 
Where are our people ? I will call them. 

Melnotte. Hold ! . 
1 — I am well. 

Pauline. Tiiou art! — Ah ! now I know it. 
Thou fanciest, my kind Lord — I know thou dost— 
'J'hou fanciest these rude walls, these rustic gossips, 
Brick'd floors, sour wine, coarse viands, vex Pauline ; 
And so tiiey might, but thou art by my side, 
And I forget all else I 

Enter IjA^di^ord, froin t>. f. the servants peeping and laugh' 
ing over his shoulder. 

Landlord. My Lord — your Highness — 
Will your most noble Excellency choose — 

Melnotte. Begone, Sir,' [Exit hASDhoTtD, laughing* 

Pauline. How could they have learn'd thy rank ? 
One's servant's are so vain ! — nay, let it nut 
Chafe thee, sweet Prince ! — a few short days, and vvQ 
Shall see thy palace by its lake of silver. 
And — nay, nay, Spendthrift, is thy wealth of smiles 
Already drained, or dost thou play the miser ? 

Melnotte. Thine eyes would call up smiles in deserts, 
fair one. 
Let us escape these rustics. Close at hand 
There is a cot, where I have bid prepare 
Our evening lodgement — a rude, homely roof, 
But honest, where our welcome will not be 
Made torture by the vulgar eyes and tongues 
That are as death to Love ! a heavenly night ! 
The wooing air and the soft moon invite us. 
Wilt walk ? I pray thee, now, — I know the path. 
Ay, every inch of it! 

Pauline. Whsit, thou! methought 
Thou wert a stranger in these parts. Ah! truant. 



38 THZ LAOy OF LYONS, 

Some village boauiy lured thcc t— tl'ou art now 
Grown constant, 

Melnotte. 1'rust mc. 

Pauline. Princess arc go chanceful I 

Mclno'dc. Come, dearest, conic. 

Fauline. Shall I not call our people 
To liff ht us ? 

Melnotte. Heaven will lend its stars for torchcsl 
It is not far. 

Pauline. The night breeze chills me. 

Melnotte. Nay, 
Let me thus mantle thee ; — it is not cold. 

Pauline. Never beneath thy smile! 

Melnotte, {aside.) Oh, Heaven I forgive mcl [Exeunt, » 

SCENE. II. — Melnotte's cottage — Widow hustling about 
— A table spread for supper. 

Widow. So, I think that looks very neat. He sent me a 
line, so blotted that I can scarcely read it, to say he would 
be here almost immediately. She must have loved him well 
indeed, to have forgotten his birth ; for though he was in- 
troduced to her in disguise, he is too honourable not to 
have revealed to her the artifice which he; love only could 
forgive. Well, I do not wonder at it ; for though my son 
is not a prince, he ought to be one, and that's almost as 
good. {Knock at the d. in f.) Ah I here they are. 

Enter Melnotte and Pauline, /rom d. in f. 

Widoio. Oh, my boy — the pride of my heart ! — welcome, 
welcome ! I beg pardon. Ma'am, but I do love him so ! 

Pauline. Good Vv^oman, I really — why, Prince, what is 
this? — does the old lady know you ? Oh, I guess you have 
done her some service : Another proof of your kind heart, 
is it not. 

Melnotte. Of my kind heart, ay I 

Pauline. So you know the Prince ? 

Widow. Know him, Madame ? — ah, I begin to fear it is 
you who know him not ! 

Pauline. Do you think she is mad ? Can we stay here, 
my Lord ? * I think tlicre's something very wild about her. 



THE LADY OP L\'ONS, '^ 

Mtlnotie. Madame, I — no I can not IcU licr, my knees 
knock together : what a coward is a man who has lost hia 
honour! Speak to her — speak to her (to his mother.) — tell 
her tliat — Oh, Heaven, that I were dead I 

Pauline. How confused he looks I — this strange place— 
this woman — what can it mean ? — f half suspect — Who 
are you, Madame ? — who are you? can't you speak? are 
you struck dumb? 

Widoto. Claude, you have not deceived her ? — Ah,- shame 
upon you ! I thought that, before you went to the altar,- 
slie was to have known all. 

Pauline. All ! what ? My blood freezes in my veins I 

Widow. Poor lady ! — dare I tell her, Claude? 

[Melnotte makes a sign of assent. 

Know you not then, Madame, that this young man ia of 
poor though honest parents ? Know yoTi not that you arc 
wedded to my son, Claude Melnotte ? 

Pauline. Your son! hold I — hold! do not speak to me— 
(approaches Melnotte and lays her hand on his arm.) la 
this a jest? is it ? I know it is, only speak — one word — 
cue look — one smile. I cannot believe — I who loved thee 

bo — I cannot believe that thou art sugh a No, I will not 

wrong thee by a harsh word — speak ! 

Mplnolte, Leave us — have pity on her, on me j leave us. 

Widow. Oh, Claude, that I should live to see ihee bowed 
by shame ! thee of whom I was so proud ! 

[Exit Widow, by the staircase, R, u. E. 

Pauline. Her son — her son — 

Melnotte. Now, lady, hear me,- 

Pauline. Hear thee ! 
Ay, speak — her son ! have fiends a parent ? speak,- 
That thou may'st silence curses — speak ! 

Melnotte. No, curse me : 
TThy curse would blast me less than thy forgiveness;. 

Pauline, (laughing wildly.) " This is thy palace, where 

the perfumed light 
Steals through the mists of alabaster lamps, 
*' And every air is heavy with the sighs 
•' Of orange groves, and nmsic from sweet lutes, 
" And murmurs of low fountains, that gush forth 
* I' the midst of roses I Dost thou like the picture ?'* 



40 THE Lady of jlvons. 

Tliis is my bridal home, and thou my bridegroom ! 

fool — O dupe — O wretch I — I see it all — . 
Tlie bye- word and the jeer of every tongue 
In Lyons. Hast thou in thy heart one touch 
Of human kindness ? if thou hast, why kill me. 
And save thy wife from madness. No, it cannot — 

. It cannot be ; this is some horrid dream : 

1 shall wake soon, {touching Jiim) Art flesh? art man? or but 
The shadows seen in sleep ? It is too real. 

What have I done to thee ? how sinn'd against thee, 
That thoushould'st crush me thus ? 

Melnotte. Pauline, by pride Angels have fallen ere thy 
time ; by pride — 
That sole alloy of thy most lovely mould — 
The evil spirit of a bitter love, 
And a revengeful heart, had power upon thee. — 
From my first years, my soul was fill'd with thee : 
I saw thee midst the flow'rs the lowly boy 
Tended, unmark'd by thee — a spirit of bloom, 
And joy, and freshness, as if spring itself "^ 

Were made a living thing, and wore thy shape ! 
I saw thee, and the passionate heart of man 
Enter'd the breast of the wild-dreaming boy ; 
And from that hour I grev/ — what to the last 
I shall be~thine adorer! Well! this love, 
Vain, frantic, guilty, if thou wilt, became 
A fountain of ambition and bright hope ; 
I thought of talcs tliat by the winter hearth 
Old gossips tell — how maidens sprung from Kings, 
Have stoop'd from their high sphere ; how Love like Death, 
Levels all ranks, and lays the shepherd's crook 
Beside the scepti e. Thus I made my home 
In the sofl palace of a fairy Future ! 
My father died ; and I, the peasant-born. 
Was my own lord. Then did I seek to rise , i 

Oat of the prison of my mean estate ; ' 

And, with such jewels as the exploring Mind 
Brings from the caves of Knowledge, buy my ransom 
From those twin gaolers of the daring heart — 
Low Birth and iron Fortune. Thy bright image, 
Glass'd ia my soul, took all the hues of glory, 



THE LAI>Y 07 LYONS. 4JL 

And lured me on to those inspiring toils 
By wliicli man masters men I For thoe I grew 
A midnight student o'er the dreams of sngcs '. 
For thee I sought to borrow from each Grace, 
And every Muse, such attributes as lend 
Ideal charms to Love. I thought of thee, 
And Passion taught me poesy — of thee. 
And on Uie painter's canvas grew the life 
Of beauty I — Art became the shadow 
Of the dear starlight of thy haunting eyes ! 
Men cnll'd me vain — some mad — I heeded not, 
But still toiled on — hoped on — for it was sweet, 
If not to win, to feel more worthy thee ! 

Pauline. Has he a magic to exorcise hate ? 

Mclnutte. At last, in one mad hour, I dared to pour 
The thouglits that burst their channels into song, 
And sent them to thee — such a tribute, lady. 
As beauty rarely scorns, even from tlie meanest. 
The name — appended by the burning heart 
That long'd to show its idol what bright things 
It had created — yea, the enthusiast's name. 
That should have been thy triumph, was thy scorn ! 
That very hour — when passion, turned to wrath^ 
Resembled hatred most — when thy disdain 
Made my whole soul a chaos — in that hour 
The tempters found me a revengeful tool 
For their revenge ! Thou hadst trampled on the worm — - 
It turn'd and stung thee ? 

Pauline. Love, Sir, hath no sting. 
What was the slight of a poor powerless girl 
To the deep wrong of this most vile revenge ? 
Oh, howl loved this man I — a serf ! — a slave! 

Melnotte. Hitld, lady ! — Xo, not slave ! Despair is free ! 
I will not tell thee of the throes — the struggles — 
The anguish — the remorse : No — let it pass I 
Aind let me come to such most poor atonement 

VTet in my power. Pauline I 

[Approaching her xcith great emotion, and 
about to take her hand. 

Pauline. No, touch me not ! 
i know my fate. You are, by law, my tyrant ; 



12 THE LADY Off LYONS. 

And I — oil Heaven ! — a peasant's wife ! I'll wo; k — 
Toil — drudge — do what tliou wilt — but touch me not; 
Let my wrongs make me sacred ! 

Melnotte. Do not fear me. 
Thou dost not know me, Madam : at the altar 
My vengeance ceased — my guilty oath expired ! 
Henceforth, no image of some marble saint, 
Nich'd in cathedral aisles, is hallow'd more 
From the rude hand of sacrilegious wrong. 
I am thy husband — nay, thou need'st not shudder; 
Here, at tliy feet, I lay a husband's rights, 
A marriage thus unholy — unfulfilled — 
A bond of fraud — is, by the laws of France, 
Made void and null. To.night sleep — in peace. 
To-morrov/, pure and virgin as this morn 
I bore thee, bathed in blushes, from the shrine. 
Thy father's arms shall take thee to thy home. 
The law shall do thee justice, and restore 
Tliy right to bless another with thy love. 
And when thou art happy, and hast half forgot 
Him who so loved — so wrong'd thee, think at least 
Heaven left some remnant of the angel still 
In that poor peasant's nature I 
Ho ! my mother '. 

Widow comes down stairs, r. u. e. 

Conduct this lady — (she is not my wife ; 

She is our guest, — our honour'd guest, my mother !)— 

To the poor chamber, whei'c the sleep of virtue, 

Never beneath my father's honest roof, 

Ev'n villains dared to mar I Now, lady, now, 

I think thou wilt believe me. — Go, my mother. 

Widow. She is not thy wife ! 

Melnotte. Hush ! hush ! for mercy's sake 
Speak not, but go. [Widow ascends the stairs, R. u. E. 

Faviai^k follows, weeping — turns to look back. 

Melnotte, {sinking down.) AH angels ble»s and guard her! 



END OF ACT III. 



THE LADY OF LY0N3. 48 

ACT IV. 

SCENE I — Tlie Cottage as before— Melnotte seated before 
a table — writing implements, ^-c. — {Day breaking.) 

Melnotte. Hush, hush ! — she sleeps at last I — thank Hea- 
ven, for awhile, she forgets even tliat I live ! Her sobs, which 
have gone to my iieart the whole, long desolate niglit, have 
ceased ! — all calm — all still ! I will go now ; I will send this 
letter to Pauline's father — when he arrives, I will place in 
his hands my own consent to tlie divorce, and then, O, 
France I my country ! accept among thy protectors, thy 
defenders — the Peasant's Son ! Our country is less proud 
than Custom, and does not refuse the blood, the heart, the 
right hand of the poor man ! 

Widow comes down stairs, R. u. E. 

Widoio. My son, thou hast acted ill, but sin brings its 
own punishment. In the hour of thy lemorEC, it is not for 
a mother to reproach thee. 

Melnotte. What is past is past. There is a future left to 
all men, who liave the virtue to repent and the energy to 
atone. Thou shalt be proud of thy son, yet, meanwhile, 
remember this poor lady has been greviously injured. For 
the sake of thy son's conscience, respect, honour, bear with 
her. If she weep, console — if she chide, be silent! 'Tis 
but a little while more — I shall send an express fast as 
horse can speed to her father. Farewell ! — I shall return 
Bhortly. 

Widow, It is the only course left to thee — thou wcrt led 
astray, but thou art not hardened. Thy heart is right still, 
as ever it was, when in thy most ambitious hopes, thou wert 
never ashamed of thy poor mother ! 

Melnotte. Ashamed of thee! — No, if I yet endure, yet 
Jive, yet hope — it is only because I v/ould not die till I have 
redeemed the noble heritage I have lost — the heritage I took 
unstained from thee and my dead father — a proud conscience 
and an honest name. I shall win them back yet — Heaven 
bless you ! [Exit, o. in f. 

Widow. My dear Claude ! — How my heart bleeds for him, 
[Paulink looks down from above, and after a pause descends. 

Pauline. Not here ! — he spares me that pain at least; so 
far he is considerate — yet the place seems still more deso- 



44 THE LADY OF LV0X5. 

late without hirn. Oh, that I could hate him— tlic gardener's 
son! — and yet how nobly lie — no — no — no I will not be so 
mean a thin<>' as to forgive him ! 

Widow. Good morning, Madam ; I would have waited 
on you if I had known you were stiring. 
. Pauline. It is no matter, Ma'am — your son's wife ought 
to w^ait on herself 

Widow. My son's wife — let not that thought vex you, 
Madam — he tells me that you will have your divorce. And 
I hops I shall live to see him smile again. There are 
maidens in this village, young and fair, Madam, who may 
yet console him. 

Pauline. I dare say — they are very welcome — and wlien 
the divorce is got, he will marry again. I am sure I hope 
so. [Weeps. 

Widow. He could have married the richest girl in the 
province, if he had pleased it; but bis head was turned, 
l^oor child 1 — he could think of nothing but you. [Weeps. 

Pauline. Don't weep, mother ! 

Widow. Ah, he has behaved very ill, I know — but love 
is so headstrong in the young. Don't weep, Madam. 

Pauline. So, as you were saying — go on. 

Widow. Oh, I cannot excuse him. Ma'am he was not in 
his right sense. 

Pauline, But he always — always (sohbiiig.) loved — loved 
me then. 

Widotv. He thought of nothing else — see here — he learnt 
to paint that he might take your likeness {uncovers the pic- 
ture.') But that's all over now — I trust you have eurerl him 
of his folly — but, dear heart, you have had no breakfast. 

Pauline. I can't take anything — don't trouble yourself. 

Widow. Nay. Madam, be persuaded; a little coffee will 
sefresh you. Our rnilk and eggs are excellent. I will get 
out Claude's cofioe-eup — it is of real Sevre ; he saved up 
all his money to biiy it three years ago, because the name 
of Pauline was inscribed on it. 

PawZinc. Three years ago ! Poor Claude! Thank you 
I think I will have some coffee. Oh, if he were but a poor 
gentleman, even a merchant ; but a gardener's son — and 
what a home! — Oh, no, it is too dreadful ! [They seat them- 
selves at the iaUe — B«?ausean-t o^cns/Ae lattice andlooks in F. 



THE LADY OF LYONS. 45 

Beauseant. So — so — the coast is clear ! I saw Claude 
in the lane — I shall have an excellent opportunity. 

[Shuts the lattice and knocks at the d. in f. 

Pauline, (starting.) Can it be my father ? — he has not 
sent for him yet ;■ Nu, he cannot be in such a hurry to get 
rid of me. 

Widow. It is not time for your father to arrive yet ; it 
must be some neighbour. 

Pauline. Don't admit any one. [Widow opens the D.in f. 

Beauseant pus/tes her aside and Enters. 

Ah ! Heavens ! that hateful Beauseant I This is indeed 
bitter ! 

Beauseant. Good morning, Madam ! Oh, Widow, your 
son begs you will have the goodness to go to him in the 
village — lie wants to speak to you on particular business ; 
you'll find him at the inn, or the grocer's shop, or the baker's, 
or at some other friend's of your family — make haste ! 
Pauline. Don't leave me mother ! don't leave me I 
Beauseant, {with great respect.) Be not alarmed, Madam. 
Believe me your friend — your servant. 

Pauline. Sir, I have no fear of you, even in this house ! 

Go, Madam, if your son wishes it; I will not contradict his 

commands whilst at least he has still the right to be obeyed. 

Widow. I don't understand this ; however I shan't be 

long gone. [Exit d. in f. 

Pauline. Sir, I divine the object of your visit — you wisli 
to exhult ill the humiliation of one who humbled you. Ba 
it so ; I am prepared to endure all — even your presence I 

Beauseant. You mistake me. Madam — Pauline, you 
mistake me ! I come to lay my fortune at your feet. You 
must already be disenchanted with this imposter; these 
walls are not worthy to be hallov/ed by your beauty ! Shall 
that form be clasped in the arms of a baE;e-born peasant? 
Beloved, beautiful Pauline ! fly with me — my carriage wait 
without — I will bear you to a home more meet for your re 
ception. Wealth, luxury, station — all shall yet be yours 
I forget your past disdain— I remember only your beauty, 
and my unconquerable love ! 

Pauline. Sir ! leave this house — it is humble : but a hu» 
band's roof, however lowly, is, in the eyes of God and Man 



46 THE LADY OF LYONS, 

the temple of a wife's lionour ! Know that I would rather 
starve — yes ! — with him who has betrayed me, than accept 
your lawful hand, even were you the Prince whose name he 
bore ! — Go ! 

Beauseant. What, is not your pride humbled yet? 

Pauline. Sir, what was pride in prosperity, in affliction 
becomes virtue. 

Beauseant^ Look round : these rug-g-ed floors — these 
homely walls — this wretclied struggle of poverty for com- 
fort — think of this ! and contrast with such a picture tlie 
refinement, the luxury, the pomp that the wealthiest gentle 
man of Lyons offers to the lovliest lady. Ah, hear me ! 

^Pauline. Oh ! my father ! — why did I leave you ? — why 
am I thus friendless ? Sir, you see before you a betrayed, 
injured, miserable woman I — respect her anguish ! 

Melnotte opens the d. in f. and silently pauses at the 
threshold. 

Beauseant. No ! let me rather tlms console it ; — let me 
snatch from those lips one breath of that frag-rance which 
never should be wasted on the lov/ cliurl thy husband. 

Pauline. Help ! Claude ! — Claude ? — Have I no piotector? 

Beauseant. Be silent ! {showing a pistol.) See, I do not 
come unprepared even for violence, t will brave all things 
— thy husband and all his race — for my sake. Thus, then, 
I clasp thee I 

Melnotte, (dashing him to the other end of the stage.) 
Pauline — look up, Pauline! thou art safe. 

Beauseant, {levelling his pistol.) Dare you thus insult a 
man of my birth, ruffian ? 

Pauline. Oh spare him — spare my husband ! — Beanseant 
— Claude — no — no — [Faints. 

Melnotte. Miserable trickster ! shame upon you! brave 
devices to terrify a woman ! coward — you tremble — you 
have outraged the laws — you know that your weapon ia 
harmless — you have the courage of the mountebank, not, 
the bravo ! — Pauline, there is no danger. 

Beauseant. I wish thou wert a gentleman — as it is tho« 
an beneath me. — Good day, and a happy honeymoon.— 
(,aside.) I will not die till 1 am avenged. 

\Exit Beauseant, d. in f 



TflE LADY OF LYONS. 47 

Melnotle. I hold her in these arms — the last embrace I 
Never, ah, never more, shall tliis dear head 
Be pillow'd on the heart that should have shelter'd 
And has betray 'd ! Soft — soft ! one kiss — poor wretch ! 
No scorn on that pale lip forbids me now ! 
One kiss — so ends all record of my crime I 
It is the seal upon the tomb of Hope, 
By which, like some lost, sorrowing' ang-el, sits 
Sad Memory evermore; — she brjutlies— she moves — 
She wakes to scorn, to hale, but not to shudder 
Beneath the touch of my abhorred love. 

[Places her on a seat. 
There — we are strangers now ! 

Pauline. All gone — all calm — 
Is every thing a dream ? thou art- safe, unhurt — 
I do not love tliee ; but— but I am woman, 
And — and — no bluod is spilt ? 

Melnoite. No, lady, no ; 
My guilt has not deserved so rich a blessing 
As even danger in thy cause. 

Enter Widow, fro7n d. in f. 

Widoio. My son, I have been everywhere i'l March of 
you ; why did you send for me ? 

Melnotle. I did not send for you. 

Widow. No! but I must tell you your Giuitia has re- 
turned. 

Melnoite. So soon ! impossible ! 

Widow. Yes, he met the lady's mother arvj father on the 
road ; they were going into the country on a visit. Your 
messenger says that [VIonsieur DeschappelUa turned almost 
white with anger, when he read your letter. They will be 
here almost immediately. Oh, Claude, CI lude ! what will 
they do to you? How I tremble! — Ah, Madam! do not 
let them injure him — if you knew how he doatcd on you ! 

Pauline. Injure him! no, Ma'iim be riot afraid; — my 
father I how shall I meet him ? how go back to Lyons? the 
scoff of the whole city ! — cruel, cruel, Claude — {in great 
agitation.) — Sir, you have acted most treacherously. 

Melnntte. I know it. Madam. 

Pauline, (aside) If he would but ask me to forgive hiraJ 
-—I never can forgive you, Sir ! 



48 THE LADY OF LYONS. 

Mclnoite. I never dared to hope it. 

Pauline. But you arc my husband now, and I have sworn 
to — to love you, Sir. 

Melnotte. That was under a false belief, Madam ', Hea- 
Ven and the laws will release you from your vow. 

Pauline. He will drive mo mad I if he were but less 
proud — if he would but ask me to remain — hark, hark — I 
hear the wheels of the carriage — Sir — Claude, they are 
coming ; have you no word to say ere it is too lute ", quick 
— speak ! 

Melnotte, I can only congratulate you on your release. 
Behold your parents ! 

Enter Monsieur and Madame Deschappelles antZ Colonel 
Damas, d. in F. 

BTons. Deschap. My child! — my child! 

Madame Deschap. Oh, my poor Pauline ! — what a vil- 
lanous hovel this is ! OH woman, get nie a chair — I shall 
faint — I certainly shall. What will the World say ? — 
Child, you have been a fool. A mother's heart is easily 
broken. 

Damas. Ha, ha! — most noble Prince — I am sorry to see 
a man of your quality in such a condition; lam afraid 
your Highness will go to the House of Correction. 

Melnotte. Taunt on, Sir — I spared you when you were 
unarmed — I am unarmed now. A man who has no excuse 
for crime is indeed defenceless ! 

Damas. There's something fine in the rascal, after all ! 

Mons. Deschap. Where is the impostor? — Are you thus 
shameless, traitor ? Can you brave the presence of that 
girl's father? 

Melnotte. Strike me, if it please you — you arc her father ! 

Pauline. Sir — sir, for my sake ; — whatever his guilt, he 
has acted nobly in atonement. 

Madame Deschap. Nobly ! Are you mad, girl ? I have 
no patience with you — to disgrace all your family thus? 
Nobly ! Oh you abominable, hardened, pitiful, mean, ugljj 
villain : 

Damas. Ugly ! Why he was beautiful yesterday ! 

Pauline. Madam, this is his roof, and he is my husband. 
Respect your daughter, and let blame fall alone on her. 



THE LADY O? LYONS. 411 

Madame DcscJiap. Yon — you — Oli, I'm choking". 

Mons. Deschap. Sir, it were idle to waste reproach upon 
a, conscience like yours — you renounce all pretentions to the 
person of this lady ? 

Melnotte. I do. — {Gives a paprr.) Here is my consent to 
a divorce — my full confession of the fi"aud, which annuls the 
marriage. Your daughter has been foully wronged — I grant 
it, Sir; but her own lips will tell you, thatfroni the hour in 
which she crossed this threshold, I returned to my own sta 
lion, and respected hers. Pure and inviolate, as when yes- 
termorn you laid your hand upon her head and blessed iicr 
I yield her back to you. For myself — I deliver you for 
ever from my presence. An outcast and a criminal, I seek 
some distant land, where I may mourn my sin and pray for 
your daughter's peace. Farewell — farewell to you all for 
ever ! 

Widow. Claude, Claude, you will not leave your poor old 
mother? She does not disown you in your sorrow — no, 
not even in ycur guilt. No divorce can separate a mother 
from her son. 

Pauline. This poor widow teaches me my duty. No 
mother — no, for you are now 7ny mother also ! — nor should 
any law, human or divine, separate .the wife from her hus- 
band's sorrows. Claude — Claude — all is forgotten — for- 
given — I am thine for ever ! 

Madame Deschap. What do I hear? — Come away, or 
never see my face again. 

Mons. Deschap. Pauline, we never betrayed you ! — do 
you forsake us for him ? 

Pauline, (going hack to her father.) Oh, no — but you will 
forgive him too ; we will live together — he shall be your son. 

Mons. Deschap. Never ! Cling to him and forsake your 
parents ! His home shall be yours — his fortune yours — his 
fate yours : tiie wealth 1 have acquired by honest industry 
sliall never enrich the dishonest man. 

Pauline. And you would have a wife enjoy luxury Avhile 
a husband toils ! Claude, take me ; thou canst not give me 
wealth, titles, station — but thou canst give me a true heart 
I will work for thee, tend the, bear v»'ith thee, and never, 
never shall these lips reproach thee for the past. 

Damas. I'll be hanged if I am not going to blubber I 



50 



THE LADY OF LYONS, 



Melnoitc Tli-is is the heaviest blow of all ! — AVhat a heart 
I have wronged I — Do not fear inc, Sir ; I am not at all har- 
dencd — I vviil not rob her of a holier love than mine. Pau- 
line I — angel of love and nnercy 1 — your memory shall lead 
mc back to virtue I — The husband of a being so beautiful in 
her noble and sublime tenderness may be poor — may be low- 
born ; — (there is no guilt in the deerecs of Providence !) — 
but he should be one who can look thee in the face without 
a blush, — to whom thy love docs not bring resnorse, — who 
can fold tliee to his heart and say, — '■'■Here there is no de- 
ceit !" 1 am not that man ! 

Damas, {aside Lo Melnottk.) Thou art a noble fellow, 
notwithstanding ; and wouldst make an e:ccellent soldier. 
Serve in my regiment. I have had a letter from the Direc- 
tory — our young General takes the command of the army 
in Italy, I am to join him at Marseilles, — I will depart this 
day, if thou wilt go with me. 

Melnotte. It is the favour I would have asked thee, if I 
dared. Place me wherever a foe is most dreaded, — where 
ever France most needs a life ! 

Damas. Tiicre shall not be a forlorn hope without thee ! 

Melnotte. There is my hand ; — Mother I your blessing. 
I shall see you again, — a better man than a prince, — a man 
who has bought the right to high thoughts by brave deeds. 
And thou! — thou! so wildly worshipped, so guiltily be- 
trayed, — all is not yet lost ! — from thy memory, at least, must 
be mine till death I If I live, the name of him thou hast 
once loved shall not rest dishonoured ; — if I fall, amidst the 
carnage and the roar of batile, my soul will fly back to 
thee, and Love shall share with Death my last sigh ! — More 
— more would I spreak to t!iee ! — to pray ! — to bless ! But, 
no ! — when I am less unworthy 1 will utter it to Heaven ! 

— I cannot trust myself to {turning to DEsciiArPELLES.) 

Your pardon, Sir; — they are my last v/ords — Farewell ! 
I [Exit D. in F. 

Damas. I will go after him. — France will thank me f<^ 
this. [Exit D. in f. 

Pauline, {starting from Iter father'' s arms.) Claude !- 
Claude ! — my husband ! 

Jlfons. Deschap. You have a father still I 

PICTURE. END OF ACT IV. 



THE LADY OF LYOXS. 31 

ACT y. 

SCENE I.— The Streets of Lyons. 

(two years and a half from the date ok act IV.) 

Enter First, Second and Third Officers, l. 

First Officer. Well, here we are at Lyons, with gallant 
old Damas : it is liis native place. ^ 

Second Officer. Yes; he has gained a step in the array 
since he was here last. The Lyonnese ought to be very 
proud of stout General Damas. 

Third Officer. Promotion is quick in the French army. 
This mysterious Moricr, — the hero of Lodi, and the favour- 
ite of tlic Commander-in-Chief, — has risen to a colonel's 
rank in two years and a" half. 

Enter Damas, as a General, l. 

Damas. Good morrow, gentlemen ; I hope you will amuse 
yourselves during our short stay in Lyons. It is a fine city; 
improved since I left it. Ah ! it is a pleasure to grow old,— 
when the years that bring decay to ourselves do but ripen 
the prosperity of our country. You have not met with 
Morier ? 
First Officer. No : wc were just speaking of him. 

Second Officer. Pray, General, can't you tell us who this 
Morier really is ? 

Damns. Is ! — why a Colonel in the French army. 

Third Officer. True. But what was he at first ? 

Dainas. At first ? — Why a baby in long clothes, I sup. 
pose. 

First Officer. Ha ! — ha ! — Ever facetious, General. 

Second Officer, {to Third.) The General is sore upon this 
point ; you will only chafe him. — Any commands, General? 

Damas. None, — Good day to you ! 

[Exeunt, Second and Third Officers, r. 
" Damas. Our comrades are very inquisitive. Poor Morier 
is the subject of a vast deal of curiosity. 

First Officer. Say interest, rather. General. His con- 
stant melancholy, — the loneliness of his habits, — his daring 
valor, — hia brilliant rise in the profession, — your friend- 



52 THE LADY OF LYON'S. 

ship, and the favours of the CommandLr.in-Cliief, — all tend 
to make him as much the matter of gossip as of admira- 
tion. But where is he, General ? I have missed him all 
the morning-. 

Damas. VVhy, Captain, I'll let you into a secret. My 
young friend has come with me to Lyons, in hopes of find- 
ing a miracle, 
t First Officer. A miracle ! — 

Damas. Yes, a mir;iple! In other words, — a constan 
woman. 

First Officer. Oh! — an affair of love ! 

Damas. Exactly so. No sooner did he enter Lyons thai? 
he waved his hand to me, threw himself from his horse, 
and is now, I warrant, asking every one, who can know 
anything about the matter, whether a certain lady is still 
true to a certain gentleman ! 

First Officer. Success to him ! — and of that success there 
can be no doubt. The gallant Colonel Moricr, the hero of 
Lodi, might make his choice out of the proudest families 
in France. 

Damas. Oh, if pride be a recommendation, the lady and 
her mother arc most handsomely endowed. By the way, 
Captain, if you should chance to meet with Morier, tell him 
he will find me at the hotel. 

First Officer. I will, General. [Exit, r. 

Damas. Now will I go to the Deschappelles, and make 
a report to my young Colonel. Ha! by Mars, Bacchus, 
Apollo, Viorum, — here comes Monsieur Beauseant ! 

Enter Beauseant, r, 

Good morrow. Monsieur Beauseant ! How fares it with 
you? 

Beauseant. {aside.) Damas! that is unfortunate; — if the 
Italian campaign should have fdled his pockets, he may 
seek to baffle me in the moment of my victory. {Aloud.) 
jTour servant, General, — for such, I tiiink, is your new dis 
inction ! Just arrived in Lyons ? 

Damas. Not an hour ago. Well, how go on the Des 
chappelles'? Have they forgiven you in that affair of young 
Melnotte ? You had some hand in that notable device, — eh ? 



THE L.VDY OF LYONS. 53 

Beauseant. Why, less than you think for I The fellow 
imposed upon mc. I have set it all right now. What has 
become of him ? He eould not have joined the army, after 
all. There is no such name in the books. 

Damas. I know nothing about Melnotte. As you say, I 
never heard the name in the Grand Army. 

Beauseant. Hem ! — You are not manied, General ^ 
Damas. Do I look like a married man, Sir ? — No, thank 
Heaven ! My profession is to make widows, not wives. 

Beauseant. You must have gained mueh booty in Italy 
Pauline will be your heiress — eh ? 

Damas. Booty ! Not 1 1 Heiress to what ? Two trunks 
and a portmanteau, — four horses, — three swords, — two suits 
of regimentals, and six pair of white leather inexpresibles I 
A pretty fortune for a young lady I 

Beauseant, (Aside.) Then all is safe ! (Aloud.) Ha ! ha ! 
Is that really all your capital, General Damas ? Why, I 
thought Italy had been a second Mexico to you soldiers. 

Damas. All a toss up, Sir. I was not one of the lucky 
ones ! My friend Morier, indeed saved something hand- 
some. But our Commander-in-Chief took care of him, and 
Morier, is a thrifty economical dog, — not like the rest of us 
soldiers, who spend our money as carelessly as if it wero 
our blood. 

Beauseantt Well it is no matter ! I do not want for- 
tune with Pauline, And you must know, General Damas, 
that your fair cousin has at length consented to reward my 
long and ardent attachment. 

Damas. You! — the devil! Why, she is already mar- 
ried. There is no divorce ! 

Beauseant. True ; but this very day she is formerly to 
authorise the necessary proceedings, — this very day she is 
to sign the contract that is to make her mine within one 
week from the day on which her present illegal marriage is 
annulled. 

Damas. You tell me wonders ! — Wonders ! No ; I be- 
ieve anything of women ! 
Beauseant. I must wish you good morning. 

[As he going, l., 
Enter Deschappelles, r. 
Mons, Deschap. Oh, Beauseant I well met. Let us come 
<o the notary at once. 



54 THE LADY Off LYONS. 

Damas, (/o DESCHArrELLES.) Why, cousin ? 

Mons. Deschap. Damas, welcome to Lyons, Pray call 
on us ; my wife will be delighted to see you. 

Dumas. Your wife be blessed for her condescension ! 

But {taking hiin aside.) what do I hear? Is it possible 
that your daughter has contented to a divorce ? — that she 
will marry Monsieur Beauseant 7 

Mons. Deschap. Certainly I What have you to say 
against it ? A gentleman of birth, fortune, character. Wa 
are not so proud as we were ; even my wife has had enough 
of nobility and princes ! 

Damas. But Pauline loved that young man so tenderly ! 

Mons. Deschap., (taking snuff.) That was two years and 
a half ago ! 

Damas. Very true. Poor Molnotte ! 

Mons. Deschap. But do not talk of that imposter; I hope 
he is dead or has left the country. Nay, even were he in 
Lyons at this moment, he ought to rejoice that, in an hon- 
ourable and suitable alliance, my daughter may forget her 
sufferings and his crime. 

Damas. Nay, if it be all settled, I have no more to say. 
Monsieur Beauseant informs me that the contract is to be 
signed this very day. 

Mons. Deschap. It is ; at one o'clock precisely. Will 
you be one of the witnesses ? 

Damas. I ? — No ; that is to say — yes, certainly I — at one 
o'clock I will wait on you. 

Mons. Deschap. Till then, adieu — come Beauseant. 

[Exeunt Beauseant and DEsciiAprELLEs, i« 

Damas. The man who sets his heart upon a woman 
Is a chamelion, and doth feed on air ; 
From air he takes his colours, — holds his life, — 
Changes with every wind, — grows lean or fat ; 
Rosy with hope, or green with jealousy. 
Or pallid with despair — just as the gale 
Varies from north to south — from heat to cold ! 
Oh, woman ! woman ! thou should's have few sins 
Of thine own to answer for ! Thou art the author 
Of such a book of follies in a man, 
That it would need the tears of all the angels 
To blot the record out ! 



THE LADY OF LYONS. 55 

Enter Melnotte, pale and agitated^ r. 

I need not tell thee ! Thou hast heard — 

Melnotte, The worst! 
I have ! 

Dumas. Be checr'd; others are as fair as she is ! 

Melnotte. Others ! — The world is crumbled at my feet ! 
She was my world ; fiU'd up the whole of being — 
Smiled in the sunshine — walk'd the glorious earth — 
Sate in my heart — was the sweet Hfe of life. 
The Past was her's : I dreamt not of a Future 
That did not wear her shape ! Mem'ry and Hope 
Alike arc gone. Pauline is faithless ! Henceforth 
The universal space is desolate I 

Damns. Hope yet. 

Melnotte. Hope, yes ! — one hope is left me still— 
A soldier's grave ! Glory has died with Love I 
I look into my heart, and where I saw 
Pauline, see Death ! 

{After a pause.) — Butatn I not deceived? 
I went but by the rumour of the town ; 
Rumour is false, — I was too hasty ! Damas, 
Whom hast thou seen ? 

Damas. Thy rival and her father. 
Arm thyself for the truth ! He heeds not— — 

Melnotte. She 
Will never knov/ how deeply she was loved ! 
The charitable night, that wont to bring 
Comfort to day, in bright and eloquent dreams. 
Is henceforth leagued with misery ! Sleep, farewell, 
Or else become eternal! Oh, the waking 
From false oblivion, and to see the sun, 
And know she is another's ! 
Damas. Be a man ! 

Melnotte. I am a man I — it is the sting of woe, 
Like mine, that tells us we arc men ! 

Damas. The false one 
Did not deserve thee. 

Melnotte. Hush!— No word against her! 
Why should she keep, thro' years and silent absence, 
The holy tablets of her virgin faith 



Lrs 



56 THE LADY OF LYONS. 

True to a traitor's name ? Oh, blame her not, 

It were a sharper grief to think her worthless 

Than to be what I am ! To-day, — to-day ! 

They said " to-day I" This day, so wildly welcomed — 

This day, my soul had singled out of time 

And mark'd for bliss ! This duy I oh, could I see her, 

iSee her once more, unknown ; but hear her voice, 

So that one echo of its music might 

Make ruin less availing in its silence. 

Damas. Easily done ! Come with me to her house; 
Your dress — your cloak — moustache — the bronzed hues 
Of time and toil — the name you bear — belief 
In your absence, all will ward away suspicion. 
Keep in the shado. Ay, I would have you come. 
There may be hope ! Pauline is yet so young, 
They may have forced her to these second bridals 
Out of mistaken love. 

Melnotte. No, bid me hope not! 
Bid me not hope ! I could not bear again 
To fall from such a heaven ! One gleam of sunshine. 
And the ice breaks and 1 am lost ! Oh, Damas, 
There's no such thing as courage in a man ; 
The veriest slave that ever crawl'd from danger 
Might spurn me now. Wlien first I lost her, Damas, 
'I bore it, did I not ? I slill had hope, - 
And now I — I — [Biirsls into an agony of grief. 

Damas. What, comrade I all the women 
That ever smiled destruction on brave hearts 
Were not worth tears like these ! 

Melnotte. 'Tis past — forget it. 
I am prepared ; life has no farther ills ! 
The cloud has broken in that stormy rain. 
And on the waste I stand, alone v/ith Heaven! 

Damas. His very face is changed ! a breaking heart 
Does its work soon I — Come, Melnotte, rouse thyself: 
One effort more. Again thou'lt see her. 

Melnotte. See her ! 
There is a passion in that simple sentence 
That shivers all the pride and power of reason 
Into a chaos ! 

Damns. Time wanes ; — come, ere yet 
It be too late. 



TIIE LADV OF LYONS. 57 

Melnotte. Terrible words— 'Too lateP' 

Lead on. One last look more, and then 

Damas. Forget her ! ft 

Melnotte. Forget her, yes ! — For death remembers not. 

[Exeunt, i« 

SCENE ir. — A room in the house of Monsieur Deschap 
PELLES 3 Pauline seated in great dejection. 

Pavline. It is so then. I must be false to Love, 
Or sacrifice a father ! Oh, my Claude, 
My lover and my husband ! have I lived 
To pray that thou mayst find some fairer boon 
Than the deep faith of this devoted heart, — 
Nourish'd till now — now broken! 

Enter Monsieur Deschappelles, l. 

Mons. Deschap. My dear cliild, 
How shall I thank — how bless thee ? Thou hast saved 
I will not say my fortune — I could bear 
Reverse, and shrink not — but that prouder wealth 
Which merchants value most — my name, my credit— 
The hard-won honours of a toilsome life — 
These thou hast saved, my child ! 

Pauline. Is there no hope ? 
No hope but this ? 

Mons. Deschap. None. If without the sum 
Which Beauseant offers for thy hand, this day 
Sinks to the west — to-morrow brings our ruin! 
And hundreds, mingled in that ruin, curse 
The bankrupt merchant ! and the insolent herd 
We feasted and made merry cry in scorn 
•' How pride has fallen ! — Lo, the bankrupt merchant !** 
My daughter, thou hast saved us ! 

Pauline. And am lost ! 

Mons. Deschap. Come, let me hope that Beauseant'p 
love 

Pauline. His love ! 
Talk not of love — Love has no thought of self I 
Love buys not with the ruthless usurer's gold 
The loathsome prostitution of a hand 



K8 THE LADY OF LYONS. 

Without a heart ! Love sacrifices all things 
To bless the thing- it loves ! He knows not love. 
Father, his^ove is hate — liis hope revenge ! 
My tears, my anguish, my remorse for falsehood— 
These are the joys he wrings from our despair ! 

Mons. Dcschnp. If taou deem'st thus, reject him ! Shame 
and ruin 
Were better than thy misery ; — think no more on't. 
My sand is well-nigh run — what boots it when 
The glass is broken '! We'll annul the' contract. 
And if to morrow in the prisoner's cell 
These aged-limbs are laid, why still, my child, 
I'll think thou art spared ; and wait the Liberal Hour' 
That lays the beggar by the side of kings ! 

Pauline. No — no — lorgive me! You, my honour'd 
father, — 
You, who so loved, so clierish'd me, whose lips 
Never knew one harsh word! I'm not ungrateful, 
I am but Jius^iian I — hush ! Now, call the bridegroom— 
You see I am prepared — no teais — all calm; 
But, father, talk no more of love ! 

Mons. Desc/wp. My child, 
'Tis but one struggle; he is young, rich, noble ; 
Thy state will rank first 'mid the dames of Lyons ; 
And when this heart can slielter thee no more, 
Thy youth will not be guardianless. 

Pauline. I have set 
My foot upon the ploughshare — I will pass 
The fiery ordeal. — (aside.) Merciful Heaven, support me ! 
And on the absent wanderer shed the light 
Of happier stars —lost ever moje to me ! 

Enter Madame Dkschafff.lles, Beauseant, Glavis and 
Notary, l. c. 

Madame DescJiap. Wliy, Pauline, you are quite in des- 
habille — you ought to be more alive to the importance ot 
this joyful occasion. We had once looked higher, it is true ; 
but you see, after all. Monsieur Beauseant's father was a 
Marquis, and that's a great comfort ! Pedigree and jointure! 
— ^you have them both in Monsieur Beauseant. A young 
lady decorously brought up should only h:ive two considera 



THE LADY OB" LYONS. 90 

tions in her choice of a liusband : — first, is his birth honor- 
able, — secondly, will his death be advantageous ? All other 
trifling details should be left to parental anxiety ! 

Beauseant, (approaching^ and waving Mside Madame.) 
Ah, Pauline ! let me hope that you are reconciled to an event 
which confeis such rapture upon me» 
Pauline. I am reconciled to my doom. 
Beauseant. Doom is a harsh word, sv/eet lady. 
Pauline, (aside.) This man must have some mercy — his 
heart cannot be marble. (Aloud.) Ob, sir, be just — be gene- 
rous ! — Seize a noble triumph — a great revenge I- —Save the 
father, and spare the child I 

Beauseant^ (aside.) Joy — ^joy alike to my hatred and my 
passion I The haughty Pauline is at last my suppliant. 
\Aloud.) You ask from me what I have not the sublime 
virtue to grant — a virtue reserved only for the gardener's 
Bon ! I cannot forego my hopes in the moment of their ful- 
filment ! — I adhere to the contract — your father's ruin, or 
your hand ! 

Pauline. Then all is over. Sir, I have decided. 

[ The clock strikes One. 

Enter Damas and Melnotte, l. c. 

Damas. Your servant, cousin Deschappelles ; — Let me 
introduce Colonel Morier. 

Madame Deschap. (curtseying very low.) What, the cele- 
brated hero ? This, is, indeed, an honor ! 

[Melnotte 6oi/;s and remains in the hack ground. 

Damas. (to Pauline.) My little cousin, I congratulate 
you! What, no smile — no blush ? You are going, to be 
divorced from poor Melnotte, and marry this rich gentleman. 
You ought to be excessively happy ! 

Pauline. Happy ! 

Damas. Why, how pale you arc, child ! — Poor Pauline ! 
Hist — confide in me! Do they force you. to this ? 

Pauline. No! 

Damas. You act with your own free consent ? 

Pauline. My own consent — yes. 

Damas. Then you are the most — I will not say whatyou 
are. 

Pauline. You think ill of me— be it so — yet if you knew 
all 



60 • THE LADY OF LYONS. 

Damas. There is some mystery — speak out, Pauline. 

Pauline, (suddenly.) Oh ! perhaps you can save me I 
you are our relation —our friend. My father is on the verge 
of bankruptcy — this day he requires a large sum to meet 
demands that cannot be denied ; that sum Beauseant will 
advance — this hand the condition of the barter. Save me if 
you have the means — save me ! You will be repaid above I 

Darnas. I recant — Women are not so bad after all !— 
Aloud.) Humph, child ! I cannot help you — I am too poor! 

Pauline. The last plank to which I clung is shivered ! 

Damas. Hold — you see my friend Morier : Melnotte is 
his most intimate friend — fought in the same fields — slept 
in the same tent. Have you any message to send to Mel- 
notte ? — any word to soften this blow ? 

Pauline. He knows Melnotte — he will see him — he will 
bear to him my last farewell — {approaches Melnotte) — He 
has a stern air — he turns away from me — he despises me I 
Sir, one word, I beseech you, 

Melnotte. Her voice again ! How the old time comes o'er 
me! 

Damas, (to Madame) Don't interrupt them. He is going 
to tell her wliat a rascal young Melnotte is; he knows him 
well, I promise you. 

Madame Deschap. So considerate in you, cousin Damas ! 

[DxMAs approaches Deschappelles ; converses apart with 
him in dumb show. — Deschappelles shows him a paper^ 
which he inspects, and takes. 

Pauline. Thrice have I sought to speak ; my courage 
fiiils me. 
Sir, is it true that you have known — nay, are 
The friend of— Melnotte? 

Melnotte. Lady, yes I — Myself 
And Misery know the man I 

Pauline. And you will sec him. 
And you will bear to him — ay — word for word, 
All that this heart, which breaks in parting from him, 
Would send, ere still for ever. 
Melnotte. He hath told me 
You have the right to choose from out the world 
A worthier bridegroom ; — he forgoes all claim 
Even to murmur at his doom. Speak on ! 



THE LADY OF LYONS. 61 

Pttuline. Tell him, for years I never nursed a thought 
That was not his ; — that on his wandering way, 
Daily and nightly, poured a mourner's prayers. 
Tell him cv'n now that I would rather share 
His lowliest lot, — walk by his side, an outcast; — 
Work for him, beg with him, — live upon the light 
Of one kind smile from him, than wear the crown 
The Bourbon lost I 

Melnotte, (aside.) Am I already mad? 
And does delirium utter such sweet words 
Into a Dreamer's ear ? {aloud.) You love him thus, 
And yet desert him ? 

Pauline. Say, that, if his eye 
Could read this heart, — its struggles, its temptations — 
His love itself would pardon that desertion ! 
Look on that poor old man — he is my father ; 
He stands upon the verge of an abyss ; — 
He calls his child to save him ! Shall I shrink 
From him who gave me birth ? — withhold my hand, 
And see a parent perish? Tell him this. 
And say — that we shall meet again in Heaven! 

Melnotte, (aside.) The night is past — joy cometh with the 
morrow. 
(Aloud.) Lady — I — I — what is this riddle ? — what 
The nature of this sacrifice ? 

Pauline, (pointing to Damas.) Go ask him! 

Beav.seant, (from the table.) The papers are prepared— 
we on'y need 
Your hand and seal. 

Melnotte. Stay, lady — one word more. 
Were but your duty with your faith united. 
Would you still share the low-born peasant's lot ? 

Pauline. Would I ? Ah, better death with him I love 
Than all the pomp — which is but as the flowers 
That crown the victim ! — (turning away.) I am ready. 
[Melnotte rushes to Damas. 

Damas. There — 
This is the schedule — this the total. 

Bcauseant, (to Deschappelles, showing notes.) Theie 
Are yours the instant she has signed ; you are 
Still the great House of Lyons ! 



62 TlIE LADY OF LT0N3, 

[The Notary is alout to hand the Contract to Pauline, 
when Melnctte seizes and tears it. 
BeauseanL Are you mad ? 

Mons. Deschap. How, Sir I What means this insult I 
Melnotte. Peace, old man ! 
I have a prior claim. Before the face 
Of man and Heaven I urge it ! I outbid 
Yon sordid huckster for your priceless jewel. 

[Giving a Pocket hook. 
There is the sum twice told ! Blush not to take it : 
There's not a coin that is not Ixjught and hallow'd 
In the cause of nations with a soldier's blood I 
Beauseant. Torments and death ! 
Pauline. That voice ! Thou art — 
Melnotte. Thy husband ! 

[Pauline rushes into his arms. 
• Melnotte. Look up ! Look up, Pauline ! — for I can bear 
Thine eyes ! The stain is blotted from my name. 
I have redeemed mine honour. I can call 
On France to sanction thy divine forgiveness ! 
Oh, joy ! — Oh, rapture! By the midnight watchfires 
Thus have I seen thee ! — ^thus foretold this hour ! 
And 'midst the roar of battle, thus have heard 
The beating of thy heart against my own! 

Beauseant. Fool'd, duped, and triumph'd over in the hour 
Of mine own victory I Curses on ye both ! 
May thorns be planted in the marriage bed ! 
And love grow sour'd and blacken into hate, 
Such as the hate that gnaws me ! [Crosses to l. 

Damas. Curse away ! 
And let me tell thee, Beauseant, a wise proverb 
The Arabs have, — "Curses are like young chickens, 

[Solemnl'ff. 
And still come home to roost !" 
Beauseant. Their happiness 
Maddens my soul ! I am powerless and revengeless ! 

[To Madame. 
I wish you joy ! Ha, ha ! The gardener's son ! [Exit^ l c 
Damas, {to Glavis) Your friend intends to hang himself* 
Methinks 
"X ou ought to be his travelling companion ! 



THE LADY OF LYONS. 63 

Glavis. Sir, you are exceedingly obliging ! [Exit^ i.. c. 

Pauline. Oh I 
My father, you are saved, — and by my husband I 
Ah ! blessed hour ! 

Mclnotte. Yet fbu weep still, Pauline ! 

Pauline. But on thy breast ! — these tears are sweet and 
holy ! 

Mon&. Deschap. You have won love and honour, nobly 
Sir! 
Take her ; — be happy both ! 

Madame Deschap. I'm all astonish'd ! 
Who, then, is Colonel Morier ? 

Damas. You behold him ! 

Mclnotte. Morier no more after this happy day ! 
I would not bear again my father's name 
Till 1 could deem it spotless ! The hour's come ! 
Heaven smiled on Conscience ! As the soldier rose 
From rank to rank, how sacred was the fame 
That cancell'd crime, and raised him nearer thee ! 

Madame Deschap. A colonel and a hero ! Well, that's 
something ! 
He's wondrously improved ! I wish you joy, Sir ! 

Melnoite. Ah ! the same love that tempts us into sin, 
If it be true love, works out its redemption ; 
And he who seeks repentance for the Past 
Should woo the Angel Virtue in the Future I 



Melnottk. 

Pauline. Mada.me D. 

Damas. Monsieur D. 

R. R> C. C. L. C. R. 



THE END. 



i^:V" 



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The Bijou Minstrel, | 'J'he l^eople's Songster, 

Every Singer's Book, | The Keepsake tongster. 

AJso, FIFTY Different kinds of a new Series of a 
UNIQUE EDITION OF SMALL SONG BOOKS, 
Each complete in itself, embracing all the standard, popular and best 
American, English^ Irish, Sccich, Patriotic, Nava!, Comic, 
Sentimental, Negro, Old Ballad, Temperance, Fire- 
men, Love, War, Military, Operatic, S^x. 
rming a Collection of over 3000 Songs. 



COLORED LITHOGRAPHIC PRINTS. 

he best assortment in America ; which for beauty, superior 

quauty, and cheapness, are nnequalled. The variety reaches 300 
kinds, which are unsurpassed. Catalogues gratis on application. 



CONVERSATION CARDS. 

Four drfferent kinds : — Fortune Telling Cards, Age Cards, &.c. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 



Dream Books, Fortune Tellers, Oraculum, Legerdemain ; Lives of 
Jack Shep^ard. Dick Turprn, Young Mutineer,. Nick'of the Woods, 
Book of Crimes, Smoker's and Chewer's Own Book, Yankee Stories, 
Negro Lectures, and various publications too numerous to mention 
in this list— for which see general Catalogue. 



ILLUSTRATED ALMANACS, 

Turner's Comic Almanac, | Fisher's Comic Almanac, 

Crockett's Almanac, | Pirata?, and Calendar of the Sea* 

PubHshed annually* illustrated by finely executed engravings from 

origin-al designs, and edited by^i gentlemen of Literary acqnirptueius. 

Square or broad Almanacs, in every variety,— German and English, 



•^ very large discount made to the Trade. Co: 
lof/ves (fvafis on applicatinn. 

■tan 



PLAYS, OPERAS, AND FARCES. j 

The Stock of Dramatic Publications combine all the prodiirtiongr ; 
ever issued by the difteient publishers, embracing the entire wIid; 
sale stock of the United States 




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Deacidified using the Bookkeeper proces 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: April 2009 



.<^ ,0-0^ <$> " PreservationTechnologie; 




A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATIG 

111 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township, PA 1 6066 









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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




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